#Sirius x Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shadesofhogwarts · 2 days ago

Text

Smothered

(6) Poly! marauders x reader

Wordcount: 4.5k

A/n) I give you my beloved brain child. Enjoy💗

It started soft, like most dangerous things do.

The three of them– James with his infectious laugh and warm brown eyes, Sirius with that sharp grin and chaotic charm, and Remus with his steady calm and too-knowing glances– had always been a little magnetic. But you were never the kind of person to orbit stars. You stayed in your own little galaxy, tucked between the pages of your books and the corners of the common room.

But stars? Stars had gravity.

You don’t remember who first started drawing you in. It didn’t start with fireworks. No grand confessions, no lingering glances across candlelit rooms. Just... laughter. A joke at breakfast. A too-long glance during Charms. A comment tossed your way that made you feel seen–really seen– for the first time in what felt like forever.

It didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like light. Like belonging.

And you liked it. You liked the way they saw you, the way they orbited around you– laughing, teasing, pulling you into their world. There was a golden warmth to it, something dreamy, something you told yourself not to overthink.

You’d always been on the periphery of their orbit. Not a stranger, no. Just… not one of them. Not the kind of person people whispered about in corridors or followed around with wide eyes. Not someone who got tackled by James Potter for fun, who got pulled into Sirius Black’s wild schemes, who got bookmarked by Remus Lupin in quiet libraries like a page he never wanted to lose.

You weren't sure what this was– maybe they liked you, maybe it was platonic, maybe it was all three of them just being Marauders. But whatever it was, you liked being near them. You liked being wanted.

And slowly, steadily, it started to feel like you were the fourth in a constellation.

It started with Sirius. Of course it did. He was bold like that. Too pretty for his own good, too charming to be safe. One day, you were sitting in your usual spot on the Gryffindor common room couch, curled up with a book. The next, Sirius was dropping beside you like a comet crashing into orbit.

“Whatcha reading, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

It wasn’t the first time someone had called you something like that. But from him, it didn’t feel like a throwaway word. It felt like the start of something.

You answered cautiously, but he didn’t tease you. He didn’t mock the book or your taste. Instead, he listened. And then he stayed. Not just that day, but every day after. Like you’d unknowingly lit a beacon he couldn’t help but follow.

James came next. With him, it wasn’t words– it was energy. He started waiting for you after class, tossing his arm around your shoulder like it belonged there. When you spoke, he turned his whole body toward you, like you were the most interesting person in the world. It was addictive, the way he paid attention. Like you were this rare bloom he’d just discovered.

Remus was the quietest of the three, but perhaps the most dangerous. He didn’t flirt, not exactly. He observed. He remembered things you didn’t expect anyone to. How you liked your tea. That you always tapped your fingers when you were thinking. That you never liked sitting with your back to the door.

He started sitting beside you in the library. Sharing notes. Asking soft, pointed questions that lingered long after the conversations ended.

It was gradual, the way they enveloped you. Not overwhelming, not at first. Just a steady current of warmth pulling you in.

You started looking forward to seeing them. Noticing the way Sirius would light up when he spotted you in the hallway, like you were the only person that mattered. How James would slide into the seat next to yours in the Great Hall before you even sat down. How Remus would subtly angle his body toward you during group conversations, nodding along like he was reading the subtext in your silences.

And God, it felt good. Like you belonged. Like you’d slipped into some unspoken rhythm that had always existed, just waiting for you to join.

You didn’t question it. Not at first.

They were affectionate in a way that was uniquely theirs. Touchy, loud, loyal. They fought and flirted and tangled themselves into people’s lives without asking. But with you... there was a softness. A reverence. A way they carved out space for you between them, as if they’d already made room long ago.

It was James who started calling you ours in front of others.

“She’s ours, don’t even try it,” he said one night at a party when some seventh year tried to flirt with you. He was grinning when he said it, his tone light– but there was something dark in the way Sirius laughed beside him. Something heavy in the way Remus’s hand brushed against your wrist and stayed.

The word echoed in your chest long after.

You laughed it off. Because what else were you supposed to do?

...

There were moments– little ones– that made your stomach twist in strange ways. Like how Sirius would watch you when you laughed, gaze lingering too long, like he was memorizing your joy and cataloguing it for later. Or how James’s touches, casual as they seemed, always found the most intimate places– your knee, your lower back, the curve of your neck. Or the way Remus would say your name like a prayer, low and deliberate, like he was tasting it.

But they never crossed lines. Not really. They were just them. And you… you were just grateful to be let in.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That the touches were friendly. That the looks were coincidental. That the flutter in your chest was just the high of attention.

But deep down, you knew.

Something was shifting. Becoming heavier.

And you liked it.

At least– at first.

...

There’s a sweet spot in every story. A moment where everything feels right– not too much, not too little. Just enough to make your heart swell, to make your cheeks warm, to make you believe maybe, maybe, this is something real.

You stayed in that moment longer than you should have.

The four of you moved like a constellation now. People started whispering in hallways– not maliciously, not cruelly. Just curious. Observing. Wondering if something was happening between you and the infamous trio of Gryffindor. If they’d chosen you. If you were theirs.

You didn't know how to answer.

Because how do you explain something that doesn’t have a name?

It wasn’t like you were dating. Not really. But it also wasn’t not like that. Sirius would walk you to class with his hand brushing against yours until it finally just slipped into place. James would sit with his legs wide open and tug you to sit between them like it was the most natural thing in the world. Remus would rest his chin on your shoulder while reading over your essays and hum in approval at your phrasing like it mattered deeply to him.

They each gave you something different, something impossible to refuse. Sirius gave thrill– he lit you up, made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made your blood fizz. James gave warmth– this overwhelming, honest devotion that made you feel chosen. And Remus? He gave depth. He saw you in quiet moments when no one else did, noticed when you were too tired to keep up the banter, and never made you feel like you had to.

And you?

You gave yourself in little pieces. A laugh here. A secret there. A touch, a look, a shared silence.

And they soaked you up like they’d been starving.

It became routine– the way they'd save you a seat without asking, the way they'd pull you into their dorm after dinner just to “hang out,” the way they'd always touch. Not always intimately, but constantly. Hands in your hair, arms around your waist, fingers trailing your spine. Sirius would trace shapes on your thigh under the table during meals. James would whisper into your ear and rest his cheek on yours. Remus would brush his hand over your knuckles while reading beside you and not let go.

It was fine.

It was fine… until it wasn’t.

...

The shift came quietly. Like a slow fog rolling in over a familiar street.

You didn’t notice it at first.

You noticed how Sirius stopped joking when someone else tried to sit next to you. How James’s laugh would flatten if you paid too much attention to someone who wasn’t them. How Remus started showing up wherever you were, book in hand, gaze cool but unmistakably observant.

You told yourself it was sweet. That they cared. That they were just protective, not possessive.

But then the looks started changing.

Not just admiring. Hungry. Eyes sweeping over you like you were something to be devoured. Like they were waiting for something– some permission, some shift– so they could claim you for real.

Sirius would stare. Not always. But enough. Long enough for your skin to crawl, even if he smiled afterward like it was nothing. James stopped joking about you being “ours” and started saying it like a fact. No grin. No wink. Just a quiet, loaded certainty.

Remus– God, even Remus– had started to ask questions.

“Where were you this afternoon?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Why didn’t you come sit with us?”

Each one posed gently, but laced with that soft steel Remus always kept hidden under his calm. You realized, belatedly, that his sweetness wasn’t softness– it was intent disguised.

It didn’t feel like you were part of something anymore. It felt like you were caught in it.

Their affection, once warm and glowy, started to press on you like a too-tight blanket. You couldn’t breathe without feeling their eyes on you. Couldn’t laugh with someone else without feeling their moods shift. Couldn’t even sit alone without one of them finding you and sliding into your space like they owned it.

You wanted to tell yourself you were overreacting.

But the dread had started.

You’d walk into a room, and Sirius’s head would snap toward you like a predator scenting prey. James would straighten, eyes gleaming like he was proud– possessive. Remus would close his book, fold his hands, and watch you walk in like you were a show.

And you?

You’d feel it. That pulse of something heavy and hot. Not fear exactly. Not discomfort exactly.

But not right either.

They never touched you in a way you didn’t allow. Never said anything wrong. But their presence grew weighty. Sticky. Too much.

It got hard to smile at them. To laugh. Even when you tried.

You’d catch Sirius watching your mouth too intently. You’d feel James’s arm tighten around your shoulders just a bit too long. You’d catch Remus looking at you like he already knew something you hadn’t said– and it made your stomach turn.

And then one day, it happened.

You walked into the common room. James looked up immediately, like he’d been waiting. Sirius grinned lazily and spread his arms in invitation. Remus tilted his head, soft and steady like always, eyes unreadable.

And your skin crawled.

Something in you recoiled. Hard.

Their faces– all so familiar, all so adored once– felt like too much. Sirius’s grin looked wolfish. James’s brightness looked invasive. Remus’s gaze felt like a mirror you didn’t want to look into.

And suddenly, you couldn’t do it anymore.

The couch where they always made space for you? A trap.

The laughter you once chased? A net.

Their closeness? A wall.

Their eyes? Cages.

You didn’t even realize you were backing away until Remus blinked and said, too gently, “You’re not sitting?”

Your throat dried. You shook your head, murmured something– anything– and walked out.

Their eyes followed you all the way to the door.

...

You didn’t mean to avoid them.

Not at first.

You told yourself it was just a break– a breather. That the discomfort, the suffocation, was temporary. That you’d come back to yourself and it would all feel sweet again. That maybe you were just overwhelmed. Tired.

But the truth was… you couldn’t look at them anymore.

You tried. You did. But Sirius’s smirk made your stomach turn now. James’s bright eyes felt invasive, like he was always watching, waiting. And Remus– Remus with his unreadable calm– he looked at you like he was already ten steps ahead. Like he knew what you were doing. Like he was just letting you play it out.

And that made it worse.

Because you didn’t want to be watched.

You didn’t want to be read like a book.

You didn’t want to be wanted this hard.

It felt like being submerged– like no matter where you turned, you couldn’t come up for air. Their eyes were everywhere. Their presence, even in absence, pressed at you. The common room felt too full. The corridors too loud. The castle too small.

And everything they did now felt wrong.

Sirius’s laugh? Too loud. Too manic.

James’s constant loyalty? Clingy.

Remus’s gaze? Intrusive. Dissecting.

The same hands that once rested on your back like comfort now felt like claims. Their glances once made your cheeks flush with fondness– now they made your skin crawl.

The more they tried, the worse it got.

James cornered you after Transfiguration.

“Hey,” he said, too soft. “Everything okay?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But he didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t. He looked at you like he was trying to peel the truth out of you.

“I miss you,” he added, voice cracking slightly. “We all do.”

And that– God, that– made your stomach twist into something sharp and bitter.

Because you hadn’t even pulled away all the way yet. And already they were aching for you.

You couldn’t bear it.

You mumbled something– nothing– and escaped.

Sirius found you later. Half-smirk, eyes glinting, still so Sirius it should have felt like home.

“Ghosting us, sweetheart?” he teased, sliding in beside you at the library table, like he hadn’t been haunting your mind for days.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him.

Because if you did, you knew it would show on your face.

The ick.

The shift.

The sudden, inexplicable desire to push him away. To flinch when he leaned in. To run.

Because his presence– his everything– felt like a trap now. A beautiful one, yes. But a trap nonetheless.

And worst of all?

You hated yourself for it.

You hated how disgusted you felt by the people who had once made you laugh so hard you nearly cried. You hated the way their smiles now read as manipulation. You hated how their kindness felt weaponized. You hated that they hadn’t really done anything wrong– and yet, you wanted to burn the whole thing down.

You didn’t want to talk.

You didn’t want to explain.

You didn’t want to be perceived.

And every time one of them tried to reach you, it made it worse.

You started taking alternate routes to class. Sitting at the edge of the room. Leaving the common room early. Ducking out of conversations. Becoming small. Distant. Detached.

Because if you stayed too long, you'd start shaking with the need to scream:

"Leave me alone. You don’t own me. Stop looking at me like I belong to you."

You couldn’t even find their faces attractive anymore. Sirius’s sharp jaw and James’s broad grin and Remus’s honey-brown eyes– ick. The ick was everywhere. On their hands, on their voices, on their jokes. On their care.

And maybe the worst part was: a tiny part of you still wanted to be held.

But not like that.

Not by them.

Not when it felt like drowning.

...

It was bound to happen. You knew it. You could feel the tension gathering like a storm behind your back.

There were only so many times you could say "I'm just tired" before someone called your bluff.

And unsurprisingly, it was Remus.

He cornered you outside the library, somewhere quiet and tucked away where people didn’t usually linger. Somewhere you couldn't just vanish.

You froze when you saw him.

He didn’t say your name softly, not like James. He didn’t lean in with playful charm, not like Sirius. He just looked at you– sharp and serious, like a professor about to hand back a failed paper.

“I’m not stupid,” he said.

You blinked.

“You’re avoiding us. Me. All of us.”

There it was. Blunt. Flat. Impossible to dodge.

You wanted to run. You really, really did.

But you didn’t.

You stood your ground. And for a moment, you wondered if this was what you��d been waiting for all along. A reason. A break. Someone to put their foot down so you didn’t have to tiptoe anymore.

“I know,” you whispered. “I just… needed space.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. His arms crossed.

“You needed space,” he repeated slowly, like it was a word in a foreign language he didn’t understand. “From what? From people who care about you? Who love you?”

That word– it hit you like a slap.

Love.

You never said that word.

You never asked for it.

It was like they poured it on you without warning. Drenched you in it. And then looked surprised when you couldn't breathe.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you murmured, eyes darting away.

Remus’s voice sharpened. “Didn’t you?”

You looked up sharply.

He regretted it the second it left his mouth– you saw it in the flicker of guilt. But he didn’t take it back. Just watched you quietly, waiting.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Hard.

So that’s how it was.

You didn’t get to feel strange, or overwhelmed, or uncomfortable. Because to them, the beginning– the late nights and shared laughter and inside jokes– meant something. And maybe they did to you too. Maybe you had wanted them. At one point.

But now?

Now it felt like they were asking you to carry a boulder you never picked up.

“I liked you,” you said quietly. “All of you. I did.”

Remus didn’t move.

“But it got too much,” you continued. “Too intense. Too fast. I didn’t know how to stop it without feeling like the bad guy.”

The silence between you stretched long and tight.

And then, just as he opened his mouth to speak, the other two showed up.

James and Sirius. Of course.

“Moony, we’ve been looking for– ”

James stopped when he saw your face.

And Sirius? Sirius didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, blinking slow. Expression unreadable.

You wanted to disappear.

“What’s going on?” James asked, voice low and cautious, like he already knew the answer.

“I’m pulling away,” you said.

They all froze.

You said it again, firmer this time. “I’m pulling away. I have been.”

James looked stunned.

Sirius’s mouth twitched– something bitter creeping in.

“Why?” he asked flatly. “Because we liked you too much?”

You swallowed. “Because I felt owned. Watched. Tied down. Like every step I took had to be filtered through how it would affect you. Like I became a mirror instead of a person.”

“That’s not fair,” James said, quietly.

“No,” you agreed. “But it’s how I feel.”

You didn’t need them to understand. You just needed them to know.

And standing there, under the weight of three pairs of eyes– three hearts cracking open– you finally realized what you had been running from.

It wasn’t them.

It was the version of you they loved. The bright one. The affectionate one. The one who always smiled back, who never flinched at closeness.

But you weren’t her anymore. Not to them.

And that version?

She wasn’t coming back.

...

You didn’t cry after you walked away.

You didn’t feel relieved, either.

You just felt… hollow.

It wasn’t like you’d set fire to anything. You hadn’t shouted. You hadn’t accused. You hadn’t been cruel. But it still felt like you’d shattered something sacred. Something that once felt tender and beautiful and safe.

And maybe that was what stung the most.

Because it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not in silence. Not with three boys left standing in a corridor, eyes full of questions and hurt and a kind of quiet disbelief. James had looked like he might run after you. Sirius had looked like he wanted to be angry, but couldn’t quite summon the energy. Remus– Remus hadn’t said anything at all. And that silence had hurt worst of all.

You found yourself retracing old patterns.

Avoiding certain halls. Choosing library tables far from the windows. Turning corners with caution. Walking faster, smiling less, vanishing more.

The castle adjusted to your absence the way water accepts a stone– ripples, and then stillness.

But even in stillness, they were everywhere.

You saw James’s scarf draped over a chair and felt your stomach flip. You heard Sirius’s laugh echo down the hallway and flinched like it was thunder. You spotted Remus’s annotated copy of Great Expectations in the study lounge and felt your chest squeeze around something sour and sharp.

You didn’t miss them.

You missed before.

Before the shift. Before the pressure. Before the invisible leash tightened around your neck.

And yet…

You still looked for them.

Out of habit. Out of guilt. Out of some strange, twisted longing for a version of them that didn’t exist anymore. A version that knew when to stop. That didn’t push and smother and cling.

It had been a few days– maybe a week– before any of them approached you again.

And, of course, it was James.

He didn’t corner you. Didn’t crowd. Just sat beside you in the courtyard one crisp afternoon, quietly, like you were strangers again. He didn’t say hi. He didn’t smile.

He just said:

“I’ve been thinking.”

You didn’t look up from your book.

“’Bout what?”

“About how we didn’t ask.”

You blinked.

“We never asked what you wanted,” James said softly, picking at a blade of grass. “We just… liked you. And we kept showing it. Loudly. Constantly.”

Your fingers stilled on the page.

“I didn’t realize it made you feel like you had no room to breathe.”

Your throat tightened.

“And I’m sorry for that.”

You finally looked at him. He wasn’t looking at you.

Just at the sky, like the clouds might give him an answer to everything that had gone wrong.

“You were the best thing that happened to us,” he said. “But we were too greedy with it.”

The words settled in your chest like dust. Not heavy, not painful. Just… present.

“I don’t hate you,” you murmured.

He smiled a little. Sad. “We know.”

“I just needed air.”

James nodded, like he understood now– truly understood– and for the first time in weeks, you felt seen again. Not wanted. Not adored. Just… seen.

And it was enough.

...

Things didn’t go back to the way they were.

Not immediately. Maybe not ever.

There were no dramatic apologies in the rain, no desperate declarations under starlight. No one ran down corridors, panting with love or regret. The world didn’t stop for your grief. It just kept turning– gently, indifferently.

And in that quiet turning, something began to mend.

Not with grand gestures. Not with heavy stares or suffocating closeness. But with a nod in the hallway. A cup of tea left beside your book in the common room. A joke slipped into conversation that didn’t ask you to laugh– just invited you to if you felt like it.

You began to breathe again.

And they let you.

James no longer dropped everything to orbit you. Instead, he passed by, offered a soft “Hey,” and walked on. That space, that freedom– it was oxygen. Sirius, who used to look at you like you were something to devour, started looking at you like you were something to understand. Less fire. More gaze. And Remus– God, Remus– he gave you the most precious thing of all: patience.

You never unlearned the feeling.

Even in that peace, even in the softer way they treated you now– there was always that memory. That subtle dread curled up somewhere in your ribs. A flicker of what if it happens again?

What if their affection grows teeth?

What if they forget how to leave you be?

What if their love turns loud again, hungry again, and you’re back where you started– trying to smile with lungs full of smoke?

You didn’t pretend it wasn’t possible. You didn’t tell yourself, Oh, they’ve changed forever. You didn’t romanticize their restraint like it was some love language.

No.

You carried that knowing like a stone in your pocket– not to weigh you down, but to ground you.

Because you changed.

You stopped being the girl who mistook their intensity for warmth. You stopped thinking attention always meant care. You stopped letting love mean losing yourself.

You didn’t go back to them as the same girl who once swooned under their gaze.

You returned as someone who could say “No.” As someone who could walk away again, if she had to. Someone who would.

That made all the difference.

There were days when you still flinched at too much attention. Days when you saw them laugh together and felt a pang of guilt, as though your honesty had fractured something golden. But more and more, that ache began to feel like… growing pains.

They stopped treating you like a prize.

You stopped treating yourself like a villain.

And slowly, you came back to them– not because you had to, not because they asked– but because you chose to.

You let Sirius walk beside you down to the greenhouses without touching you. You shared tea with Remus again, letting the quiet stretch between you without pressure. And one evening, when the common room was buzzing and your eyes were heavy, James wordlessly offered you his sweater– nothing more.

You took it.

It was soft and warm and smelled like firewood and lavender and a little bit like safety.

Something new was growing in that sweater. In the quiet tea. In the space between footsteps.

Something smaller than love. Gentler.

Not obsession. Not infatuation.

Just care.

The thing about love– real love– is that it doesn’t just live in how someone looks at you.

It lives in how they listen when you say, “That’s too much.” It lives in how they pull back when you need air, even if it bruises them a little to do it.

So no– you didn’t forget.

You remembered everything.

And you still walked back.

Not because you forgot who they were.

But because you knew who you were now.

And you were someone who could leave the moment love tried to hold you too tight.

But this time?

They loved you without holding too tight.

And that’s how you knew it was real.

76 notes · View notes

dismalflo · 5 days ago

Note

I think it’d be super cute if reader gave Sirius a new leather jacket on some occasion or just because and had picked out patches during the year to sew on and decorate the back of the jacket with :,)

thank you for requesting!! very cute idea <3 (im saving the patches idea for longer fic in the future)

Sirius Black x reader who buys him a present... just because ✩ 800 words

cw: fluff, established relationship

“Fucking hell.” clipped and frustrated, is the first thing you hear after unlocking the door to Sirius’ flat, shopping bags in hand. The sharpness of his voice has you rushing forward in search of him.

Rounding the corner into the living room, you find him crouched in front of the record player. His brows drawn tight, jaw clenched, and glaring like he’s been betrayed.

“You okay?” you ask softly, trying not to scare him.

But it’s too late. Sirius startles at the sound, whipping around with wide eyes. Clearly the concentration he had on burning a hole with his stare stopped him from hearing you come in.

“Shit, poppet,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “Y’trying to give me a heart attack?”

You suppress a smile. “You okay?” you repeat, glancing at the various vinyl sleeves strewn around him.

“No,” he huffs, sitting back on his heels. “This bloody thing’s decided it hates music. Keeps skipping on everything I put on.”

Stepping over the mess, you crouch beside him. “Have you tried the penny–” “Yes” he replies faux exasperated, “I’ve tried a penny on the needle.”

“Well, I’m out of ideas, then,” you say with a shrug, smiling as you lean in to inspect the turntable anyway. “Might just be sulking. Machines do that sometimes.”

He narrows his eyes at you, disbelieving, but there’s a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Awful.” You laugh bumping your shoulder into his. “You won't want the present I've got then? Y’know, since you're so upset.” you gesture to the record player, but Sirius’ eyes are pinned on you now.

“Never said that, doll.” he replies, raising an eyebrow, intrigued.

Reaching into the bag set at your side you pull the gift out carefully. A black leather jacket. It's not dissimilar to the one Sirius wears like a second skin most of the time, but it's in better condition, and doesn't have an ever growing hole in the lining that he chooses to ignore.

You don’t hand it to him right away.

“I saw it in the shop, and thought you’d like it. But, if it's weird or you don't like it, it's fine. I can take it back, I think.”

His eyes drop to the jacket, and for a moment, he just stares at it. You feel a flicker of panic. Maybe it was weird. Maybe you’d overstepped. He’s never exactly been easy to shop for. You start to pull it back toward the bag.

But then he’s reaching for it gently, fingers brushing yours as he lifts it into his lap.

“You bought this… for me?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, trying not to fidget. “Yeah.”

He runs a hand down the sleeve, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “This is… fuck, babe, this is nice. Like, expensive, nice.”

“It was on sale,” you lie.

He gives you a look. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You shrug sheepishly. “Am I not allowed to treat you?”

Sirius huffs, shaking his head as he looks down at the jacket again, like he still can’t quite believe it’s real. Then he mutters, almost bashful, “’Course you can. You shouldn’t have though.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you say flatly, giving him a look. “What kind of logic is that?”

But he doesn’t answer. Not with words, anyway.

His whole face lights up with a boyish, delighted grin and he lunges forward, cupping your face in his hands like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You ridiculous thing,” he says, and starts peppering kisses all over your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead, chin; anywhere he can reach. “Buying me things. Loving me, the nerve–”

You giggle, squirming a little under the affection. “Sirius–stop–”

“Nope. Can’t. Won’t. Too in love,” he mumbles between kisses, the corners of his mouth brushing your skin. “Completely helpless, I’m afraid.”

"You still need to try it on." You snort, trying to gently push him away.

“Right,” he says, finally pulling away with a dramatic sigh.

He stands, slinging the jacket over his shoulders and shrugging it into place. It fits like a dream, like it was made just for him. Making his way across the room to the mirror, Sirius assesses the fit and style before giving an approving nod to his reflection.

And then he turns back to you, looking like he might explode from the joy of it all. Still grinning, he crosses the room in two strides and wraps you up in a big, tight hug, lifting your heels slightly off the floor.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair before pulling back just enough to press a lingering, warm kiss to your lips.

“Of course.”

He moves his hands to rest on your cheeks again, looking at you with an unfamiliar intensity, making sure you really hear it when he says, “I mean it, thank you.”

You rest your hands over his ,a touch for a touch.

“I know,” you whisper, shy under his gaze. “You’re welcome.”

masterlist <3

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black x self insert #sirius black drabble #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fluff #sirius black

278 notes · View notes

aetherraeys · 14 hours ago

Text

thrills

(a night to remember, pt2, pt3, pt4/this)

sirius black x reader ⊹ 8.2k

cw ⟢ swearing, injury, blood, mild hurt/comfort, new relationship, suggestive, biker!sirius, very domestic, fluff

summary: Sirius Black was far more domestic than you'd ever imagined, falling into his new role of boyfriend without a hitch.

a/n: the shame i feel for taking so long to start this...but its here at least, all be it lamost 5weeks later,,,thank you anon for giving me ideas on a final part MWAH! not proofread x

New is fun, new is good.

New is firsts.

And while some kinds of new—that confessional i love you, that leaves you breathless and dizzy and at a loss for words—is more welcomed than others, there is also the other kind.

The first (but most definitely not last) time you had to hold Marlene back from lunging at and attacking Sirius like some rabid animal. That sort of new is...well, new. And admittedly? A little entertaining.

It really was because of that blasted spare key.

Marlene had decided maybe it was best to let the dust settle before she forced her way into your space. To try and console you and make you realise that maybe it was better that Sirius was a right foul git and you deserved better—she had it all prepared, planned it out on the drive over.

Brought your favourite films and snacks in preperation for a long, quiet day of comforting, ice-cream, junk food and trash talking the older Black brother.

So you can just imagine the shock and horror when she pulled into your usually empty drive way, to see that same goddamn motorbike there—blocking her from parking. And though Marlene did eventually find a spot, just down the road—where she had to pay for the parking—it just added to her anger.

Barging into your building in a hurricane of fury.

Because how dare he, the absolute cheek—he’d gone and snogged Emmeline right in front of you—he’d shown up to torture you more, plead his case when that was the last thing you needed. Neither of you had time to compute the sound of the door slamming open, the hinges yelling under the pressure of Marlene’s swing. You’d been asleep, cuddled and scrunched up together on the too small sofa, face buried into the corner of Sirius’ neck.

And when your head shot up at the sound of knob crashing into the wall—hard—wincing at the impact and it surely left a dent. If the way the harsh bang echoed through the room didn’t awake Sirius, the way your forehead knocked against his chin definetly did. A pained groan sounding from him as your scrambled to a stand, hands pressing into his stomach to support your rise—forcing a low “Oof,” out of him.

The look on Marlene’s face had alarm bells ringing in your head—still fuzzy from sleep, the thud of the bags to the floor shook you out of it—allowing you to hone in on the way her face was getting redder by the second. Eyes franctically darting between you and Sirius’ disgruntled, winded figure.

“Are you fucking joking right now?!”

Sirius all but teleported to the other side of the room at the harsh sound of Marlene’s tone—arms mimicking yours in their raised to defense while yours were more to ward her off.

Voice still hoarse from sleep and the night’s shed tears, trying to calm the impending attack on your newly appointed boyfriend—”Marls…MARLENE! Just wait—let me explain—!” you started.

But she didn’t wait—all but vaulting over the couch surely in search of a way to get Sirius into her grasp and throttle him. Rant loud on her tongue, littered with profanity and every insult under the sun as he rounded the corner of your dining table.

Sirius had managed to evade her thus far—breathless on the other side of the dining table—but to his misfortune, he’d trapped himself.

It was only a few more tense moments of back and forth circling the table before you found your way into the mix. Edging Sirius into a safer corner, standing between them brows stretched into a distressed grimance—she took another step forwards—and Sirius mirrored her with a step back.

The whole situation was painfully laughable—sleep still clinging to the corners of your eyes, lips chapped and dribble stained. Sirius’ hair pushed up awkwardly on one side, matching the panic in his eyes as you shielded him.

Marlene wasn’t going to give up, threats slipping throught the cacophany of clattering furniture as she advanced.

“Black! When I get my hands on you, I swear to Merlin...” The frown on her face morphed into a scrowl when he responded.

“Not having the best morning? Are we Marls—Oi!” He just narrowly dodged the banana hurtled in his direction, and you hissed out his name in a chiding way that all but screamed not the time. Trying again to have her see some reason, or at least stop throwing objects around your kitchen—

”Marls, please. Just hold on a sec—Please, don’t throw—!”

It was a bit late for that. Another poor fruit from the bowl clattering against the counter—and satsuma this time.

“Why are you protecting that lump of shit, Y/N!”

You could only roll your eyes at the way Sirius muttered from behind you, “I can hear you, y’know,” Arms still outstretched in a rather pitiful attempt at shielding him, pleading with your eyes as much as you could, words urgent and rushed as they leave your mouth.

“He didn’t do it on purpose—it was a misunderstanding!” You step back hazardly, just barely missing Sirius’ sock-clad feet as you back him away from her, she resembled an angered bull more than anything. You could practically see the steam leaving her nose as she huffed out in disbelief—

“How does one snog another accidently?!” Marlene, undeterred, advanced again.

Okay, she had a fair point. But it really was just an unfortunate circumstance, you almost winced at her pitch—“If you gave me a second, maybe I’d be able to explain—”

“Black’s a slick git—you can’t trust a word out of his lying mouth!”

“You have such little faith in me, McKinnon!” Sirius gasped from behind you, like he’d been physically wounded by her words.

“Oh, shut it, Black—” Marlene snapped, advancing another step like she was genuinely weighing whether a cereal box could double as a weapon. “You’re lucky I left the bloody bat in the boot.”

You flinched at that one. Sirius did too.

“Marls, breathe, please,” you said, still firmly planted between them, arms stretched like a human barricade. “Just listen to me for one minute, okay? One. And if you’re still mad after, I’ll let you chuck the whole fruit bowl at him.”

“You say that like I wasn’t already planning to,” she growled, but her pace slowed—just a touch. The red in her cheeks hadn’t faded, but her eyes flicked to you, and some of the fury cracked around the edges.

You seized your chance.

It was rather finnicky to explain, how Emmeline had just grabbed the nearest person in a drunken flurry—all but dragging him into her by his collar—emphasising how it barely lasted not even five seconds.

How Sirius pushed her off in an instant, how it just happened to be him—how he’d never do anything like that to you—his hand coming down to rest on your waist lightly. Marlene looked between you both again. Sirius’ head poked out from behind your shoulder, expression genuinely apologetic now. “It really was just a misunderstanding—swear on my bike.”

“…That’s not very reassuring.”

“It is to me,” he muttered, then visibly winced when you elbowed him.

Marlene let out a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of her nose, chiding thoughts interrupted by Sirius’ almost goading comment he murmured, “Can’t have a morning with my girlfriend without getting chased about the kitchen.”

Her eyes snapped up at that, and he knew well that she’d hear it—the room was all but silence, still edge with simmering tension as Marlene contempleted whether to let him live despite it all.

Narrowing her gaze like she’d just caught wind of something foul. "Girlfriend?" she repeated, voice climbing to a sharp pitch, eyes darting between you both like she was genuinely concerned for your well-being. "As in, officially? Now? As in overnight?!"

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. But you could feel the burn start in your chest and crawl rapidly up your neck, setting your ears ablaze. Sirius, behind you, seemed completely unbothered by the sudden exposure of it all.

“Yep,” he said simply, rather chuffed with himself like he wasn’t outing something so fresh it was barely processed even by you. And you froze as he stuck his tongue out at Marlene over your shoulder and then pressed an obnoxiously loud, wet kiss to your cheek with a ridiculous mwah noise, hands still casually resting on your waist.

So startled by the contact and the very bold declaration that your body went completely stiff under the affection. Heat surged to your face in mortifying waves as Sirius just grinned, completely unapologetic.

Marlene recoiled with a grimace. “Oh bloody hell,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You’re so lucky she’s soft.”

Sirius grinned wider. “She is. It’s why I like her.”

“You’re pushing it,” Marlene warned, still eyeballing you both with such profound disbelief it could've peeled wallpaper. “Good thing I found that out before I keyed his bloody bike.”

That got Sirius’ attention. His expression dropped like a stone. “You were going to key my bike?!” he gasped, scandalised.

Marlene only shrugged, turning on her heel like it was the most casual thing in the world, shopping bags swinging in her hands as she marched toward the living room.

Sirius was already following after her like a panicked puppy, tugging you along with one hand still clasped in his. “Marlene—I swear to Merlin—my bike! What did it ever do to you?!”

“Oh calm down,” she drawled over her shoulder. “Didn’t even have time to scratch it.” She let out a long, theatrical sigh as she dropped her bags on the coffee table. “Guess I won’t be slagging off Sirius Black today.”

“You can stay, you know!” you protested, finally finding your voice again, still trailing behind Sirius like your brain was lagging ten steps behind this whole morning. “At least stay for a cuppa—”

Marlene made a gagging noise so exaggerated it almost echoed. “No, no—I won’t intrude on your morning—” she checked her watch, “afternoon with your boyfriend.” She shot you a pointed look over her shoulder, fingers wiggling in a phone gesture as she mouthed we’ll talk later.

Sirius, meanwhile, was still stuck somewhere between relief and residual panic. “You almost keyed my bike,” he muttered, half to himself.

Marlene didn’t even grace him with a second glance as she slipped out the door. “I still might, Black.”

The door clicked shut.

And then it was just you and Sirius in the stillness of your flat, your face still hot, your limbs still awkward, and Sirius—as ever—completely unfazed.

He turned to you, that stupid smirk tugging at his lips, eyes dancing with mischief.

“You froze when I kissed you,” he teased, tilting his head as his hands slid back to your waist, fingertips pressing gently.

“Shut up,” you muttered, still burning, unable to look him in the eye.

But then he was walking you backwards, slow and deliberate, until your back met the cool wall and he caged you in with a certain smugness.

“You’re really cute when you’re all flustered, y’know that?” he murmured, eyes soft but playful, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “Think I might have to do that more often.”

You glared at him, or tried to, but it lacked conviction when your face was still hot and he was looking at you like that—eyes all lazy delight and intent amusement, lips quirking like he had you pinned in more ways than one.

“I will literally kill you,” you muttered, trying not to smile—failing—as you turned your face away, pulse ringing embrassingly loud in your ears, heart thumping rapid beneath your ribs. .

“Ooh,” he grinned, leaning in closer, his breath warm fanning over your cheek, “is that a threat from my girlfriend?” He exaggerated the word with a mock gasp, like it still thrilled him to say it aloud. Which, honestly, it probably did.

“You’re lucky I don’t set you on fire,” you muttered, voice tight with embarrassment.

“I’d let you,” he said, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “Burn me to ash, darling, but kiss me first.”

You let out a splutter of laughter that you tried to smother with your hand, but he caught your wrist, gently pinning it to the wall beside your head. The other hand skimmed your waist, touch maddeningly light, and he grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I hate you,” you whispered, but it came out soft and breathy and baseless.

“Oh I know, sweetheart,” he whispered back with mock solemnity, brushing his nose against yours. “Tragic, really. Because I’m about to do something unforgivable.”

And before you could ask, what—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft, not exactly—it was all smugness and heat, lips pressing ato yours with that same teasing confidence he wore like a second skin. He kissed you like he was winning, like he’d caught you mid-swoon and was soaking it in. Letting his hand sliding up your back, keeping you close—his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your bed clothes, the wall behind you keeping you from melting into a puddle while your knees did their best impression of useless.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was obnoxiously wide.

“You froze again,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours now. “Gods, I’m good.”

“You’re insufferable,” you managed to say, breath shaky, though your hands had somehow wound into his shirt like you’d forgotten how to let go.

“Mm. And yet…” he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your collarbone, just barely grazing the skin with his teeth like he couldn’t help himself, earning him a quiet gasp. “Here you are. Still kissing me. Still blushing. Still all mine.”

New titles, new teases, new thrills.

Because Sirius really did bring a blood-pumping, head-spinning thrill into everything, every moment laces with and intertwined with the intoxicating feeling that was just him.

Even the mundane wasn’t just that with him—it was more, it was better—everything it had already been and everything you’d hope it to be.

He made his presence known in your little flat with purpose, claiming an entire shelf in your bathroom cabinet—and you welcomed it.

Watched it fill slowly, piece by piece, with his things: the woodsy-sweet aftershave that you fought the urge not to take a swig of some mornings, a crooked stack of faded hairbands, a few silver chains that clinked together gently, a worn tin of hair gel, cologne, a hard bristle brush. The toothbrush you’d given him “just in case” had somehow multiplied into three.

And you put his array of toileties to use—mainly helping him though.

You’d thought it nearly impossible for Sirius to be at yours more than he already was. Yet somehow, he proved you wrong, subtly phasing out of his shared flat with James and all but moving in with you.

His boots in the hallway. His coat thrown over your chair. His bike helmet permanently perched on top of your record player.

Although it wasn’t official—no formal conversation, no labelled drawers or declarations—it was becoming more and more apparent how well integrated Sirius was becoming into your daily routine.

It was most obvious in the mornings—and though you’d shared many before, it was different now somehow.

The alarm buzzed obnoxiously, sharp through the hush of your room, cutting through sleep like a blade and your hand shot out from under the covers, patting around blindly until you found the button and silenced it.

For now.

Sirius hummed softly from behind you, arm still looped lazily around your middle, you tried to sink deeper into his warmth, eyes squeezing shut, cheek pressing into him like the night had only just begun.

“You’ve got to get up now, love,” he whispered, mouth brushing against the shell of your ear, lips curling into a smile when you shook your head defiantly and mumbled, “Absolutely not. I’m deceased.”

That earned a soft chuckle, and the vibrations rumbled through both your tangled forms. “You said that yesterday. Still here.”

“M’time was tragically short-lived.”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice a warm rasp in the low light. “I’ll get up with you.”

Another unintelligible mutter left you, but your eyes cracked open—just barely—a reluctant olive branch. Then, before you could react, protest to his offer, he was shifting out from under you, gathering you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Curling into him you hummed, limp in his arms, arms clinging around his neck as he carried you to the bathroom, bare feet padding quietly across the wooden floor. Pushing the door open with his hip and deposited you gently in front of the sink, keeping his arms around you when your knees buckled slightly from the shock of standing. You slumped against him, eyelids heavy again, pout forming without thought.

“Merlin,” he breathed with a smile, brushing your hair gently out of your face, “you’re hopeless.”

All that left you was a sleepy sound of protest, trying to ignore the harshness of the bathroom light with closed eyes—“Open,” he prompted, his own voice till hoarse with sleep—toothbrush already ready in hand.

You obeyed, lips parting slowly. He brushed your teeth for you with practiced care, murmuring something about how spoiled you were. When he held the mug of water to your lips so you could rinse and gargle, he pulled your hair back with the other hand, moving through it all like a routine he’d rehearsed.

When you’d finished, he turned you around by the hips to face him again, your eyes puffy from sleep but a little more awake now. He grinned, leaned down, and pressed a firm kiss to your pout.

“Shower,” he said, rubbing slow circles on your back.

You nodded with a small hum, and he turned to set the water running—one hand testing the warmth before reaching for the hem of his shirt on you. He peeled it off carefully, knuckles grazing your skin like a whisper, and helped you step into the steam.

While you showered, he moved about the flat with habitual ease—setting out your clothes for the day, your work bag prepped with charger and laptop, tea steeping on the counter. He even warmed your towel in the dryer before coming back to swap places with you.

And when you were dressed, now far more alive than earlier but still yawning as you dried your hair, you returned to the bathroom to find Sirius half-ready, leaning into the mirror drying his face and opening the cabinet to reach for—

His brows furrowed at the clear empty space on the shelf that would usually housed his brush, running a hand thorugh his hair—eyes flitting around the bathroom before landing on you.

And you stifled a grin, holding it up smugly from behind him. “Looking for this?”

He turned around, eyeing you dramatically. “My saviour!”

“Hand me the gel,” you said, stepping up onto the little wooden stool you kept by the sink just for this reason. Sirius passed it to you obediently and stood still as you carefully slicked back his hair—your fingers threading through it with far more affection and attention to detail than necessary for simple grooming.

His motorbike helmet sat nearby, ready and waiting.

He watched you quietly as you fussed over his hair. He didn’t say it, but it was in his eyes, swimming gently behind his half-blown pupils—the affection, the comfort, the subtle contentment in the luck he had, that you were the one standing there, fussing over him.

When you finished, you gave his chin a gentle tap. He leaned in and kissed you again, longer this time—smiling against your lips.

“I’ll drive you,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “So maybe a jacket, hmm?”

Like usual, Sirius drove from your workplace to his garage, the familiar hum of the engine beneath him like second nature now. The ride was short, but it was always enough to clear his head and slip him into that comfortable rhythm—the one that only came with grease-stained hands, petrol in the air, and the familiar clangs and creaks of a place that felt more like home than anywhere else.

By the time he rolled the bike up the ramp and into the workshop, the garage was already humming with life.

Music blasted from the scuffed speaker perched haphazardly on a high shelf—something fast and loud, the kind of thing you’d call ‘chaotic’ and he’d call ‘motivational.’ He tossed his helmet onto the bench, ran a hand through his hair—now slightly undone from the ride—and tugged his shirt over his head, leaving him in the plain tank beneath.

Tools clanked as he got to work, fingers nimble as he tuned a few finicky components in the engine. Between adjustments, he took moments to add a few new stickers to the side of the bike’s fuel tank—some sent by friends, others collected at odd shops, and one he’d been waiting to arrive for weeks. Hands working on muscle memory, a towel tucked into the waistband of his faded jeans, ready for the inevitable grease and smudges.

He didn’t notice James arrive until the soft crunch of tires sounded on the gravel outside. The car door slammed, and a familiar voice rang out, slightly muffled beneath the music. Sirius looked up with a grin as James strolled in, carrying a brown paper bag and two takeaway drinks.

“Oi, Pads!” James called, already grinning. “Brought lunch. Figured you’d forget to eat again unless it walked in on its own legs.”

Sirius laughed, tugging the towel from his waistband to wipe the oil from his hands as he made his way over. “Speak for yourself. I’m just incredibly selective with my meals.”

“Selective, my arse,” James shot back, giving him a few hearty taps on the back as they met in the middle of the garage. “You’d eat three bags of crisps and call it gourmet if it came with a pint.”

Sirius snorted, already peeking into the bag. “And yet you bring me exactly what I didn’t know I was dying for.”

“You’re welcome.” James flopped onto the worn leather sofa tucked into the corner of the garage—its cushions permanently dented from years of lounging, gaming, and midday naps. Sirius washed his hands properly in the sink this time, swapping out his grease-smudged top for a clean black tee before joining James with a satisfied hum.

They ate casually, talking in that way they always did—overlapping thoughts, half-finished stories, laughing at things they didn’t even need to explain anymore. But not long into it, James leaned back and let out a dramatic sigh.

“You know, I rarely see you anymore,” he complained, gesturing lazily with a crisp. “We live together. Or at least, I thought we did.”

Sirius just laughed, brushing the crumbs from his lap as he pushed off the couch and wandered back to the bike. “You’re being dramatic. You see me all the time.”

“Hmm,” James muttered. “Funny. The ghost of you leaves mugs in the sink but doesn’t speak.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, grabbing a stool and plopping down onto it, new stickers in one hand and a blowdryer in the other. He leaned over the bike carefully, lining up the next addition with practiced precision.

The collar of his shirt hung low on his shoulder as he concentrated, exposing just a bit of skin.

And James caught it immediately.

He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing with amusement. A very fresh, very obvious set of hickies peeked out from under the shirt, nestled high on Sirius’ collarbone and flushed faint pink, trailing down further than he could see.

And just like that, James was on his feet with a bounce in his step, sauntering over with all the mischief of a boy who’d just discovered the best secret.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, dragging out each word as he approached. “So that’s who’s been stealing you away then, Pads.”

Sirius didn’t even look up, brows furrowed in concentration as he forced an air bubble from under the letter. “What on earth are you on about now?”

James stopped just beside him, towering over the stool where Sirius was still focused on the bike’s curve, trying to smooth the sticker just right. His voice dipped into a hum.

“Hmm. Not sure. Could be the disappearing acts. Or maybe,” he said, dragging the moment out, “just maybe it’s the very telling bruises on your chest.” Putting a painful emphasis on the s, grinning at him like the cat that got the cream.

That got Sirius’ attention.

He blinked and turned his head sharply to look at James, realisation dawning almost instantly. “Fuck off,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and shifting on the stool, tugging his collar up without too much urgency—but the smirk that twitched at the corners of his lip gave him away.

And James just grinned wider. “Whoever she is, mate, she’s got a serious biting problem.”

“Oh, shove off, Prongs.”

“Does she know you get all flushed like a schoolboy when you’re caught?”

Sirius clicked the blowdryer on pointedly, drowning out James’ snickering. But even over the buzz, his grin was unmistakable, his ears tinged slightly pink.

James wasn’t going to let it go that easily—not when his best friend was clearly smitten. Not when Sirius was practically glowing with the kind of quiet joy that didn’t come from engines or speed or mischief—but from something, or more accurately someone, who’d managed to make even Sirius Black domesticated.

Or at least something very eerily close to it.

Sirius had been doing well to stay off James’ radar. He dodged the teasing with dramatic groans and artful deflections, buried any real details beneath smirks and shrugs and the occasional cryptic comment that meant nothing and everything all at once. You hadn’t talked about it explicitly—it wasn’t technically a secret—but Sirius hadn’t exactly broadcasted it either.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Hell, if it were up to him, he’d happily shout it from the rooftops. He’d staple flyers to lampposts. Spray paint your initials across the hood of his bike. But he also knew—without question—that James would wrestle him off said rooftop if he ever found out.

Not because James didn’t trust him. Not really.

But because James was just as, if not more protective over you than Marlene was. He always had been, you were one of his closest friends too. His sister in everything but blood. And from the very beginning, James had drawn the line so clearly it may as well have been carved in stone.

You were off limits. Non-negotiable.

And Sirius? Sirius understood. He got it. He respected it. Until you kissed him by the pool, your eyes glassy with drink and affection. Until you fell asleep in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Until he looked at you and saw something quiet and golden and terrifying.

And even then—especially then—James had still written it off. Dismissed it entirely.

Even after the way your eyes trailed after Sirius when you thought no one was watching. Even after Sirius had carried you to bed that night, careful and silent and far too gentle, while James followed with crossed arms and a tight jaw, muttering something about “no funny business.”

He’d made his stance perfectly clear. That night was the warning shot.

And Sirius?

Sirius had tried—really tried—not to fall over that line.

But lines get blurry in the dark. And when you invited him in for tea, slowed him down with soft eyes and an even softer voice—and he had no choice but to fall.

By some insane miracle, Marlene still remained the only one who knew.

And it’s not like you were being slick in the slightest—always together, practically attached at the hip, Sirius’ bike a permanent fixture outside your flat, his jacket thrown over the back of your couch, your shampoo smelling suspiciously like his cologne. Clothes folded together, mugs interchanged, playlists bleeding into one another like you’d been tangled up for years instead of months.

Realistically, all James needed to do to figure it out was open his eyes. Drive by your place, see Sirius’ bike parked out front. Stop by unannounced and spot his boots by the door, or worse—him, sprawled on your sofa like he paid rent.

But somehow, the world had yet to catch up with the two of you.

It was a random weekend when Sirius suggested driving you to his garage. “If you’re gonna keep nicking my shirts, might as well see where they end up covered in grease,” he’d said, flashing that easy grin, his hand already on the small of your back as you both headed out.

Placing a helmet on your head before riding out of your road.

It was your first time there—eyes wide with curiosity as you stepped into the wide, sunlit space that smelt like oil, metal, and faintly of something that was just...him.

Music booming from an old speaker tucked on a shelf, some grungy rock track you half-recognised, while Sirius pulled the garage door up with a heave and parked the bike inside.

He’d already shrugged off his jacket, wearing just a faded black tank that clung to his chest and arms like a second skin, muscles glistening slightly from the ride over. You’d been trying very hard not to oogle—failing miserably—as you wandered around, pretending to be interested in the shelves lined with tools you couldn’t name.

Watching from behind him on a rickety stool as his hands worked a wrench into a metal crevice with a whiny squeak.

But then you saw it.

A sticker on the side of his bike, your initials in bold—tucked into the design between a handful of other vinyl patches.

You blinked, scooting closer on the chair, hinges whining with each movement—eyes narrowing, head tilted. “...Is that...?”

He glanced back over his shoulder, lips twitching up into a smirk as he caught your stunned expression—following your eyes to the curve of his bike. “Took you long enough to notice,” he said, eyes glinting. “It’s been on there for weeks.”

You tried—really tried—to purse your lips and school your face into something unimpressed. But the smile tugging at your mouth was impossible to suppress. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, heart thudding against your ribs.

Sirius just wiped his hands on a rag and crouched down beside the engine again, voice light. “Could get you one of your own, y’know.”

“One of what?” You craned your neck to get a better look at him.

“A bike.”

You eyes all but pooped out of your head, jaw slacking. “Why the hell would I want my own personal death machine?”

He rolled his eyes, grinning, voice muffled by the hollow metal he spoke into. “Come on, you’ve been on mine loads of times. At this point you could probably drive me around.”

“Not the same,” you grumbled, arms crossing. “You know it’s not the same.”

But he was already straightening up, seriously considering it. “I could teach you.”

“No,” you said instantly—eyes closed as you shook your head.

“Yes,” he countered, and before you could even protest again, he had his hands at your waist and was lifting you, setting you down onto the leather seat of his bike like you weighed nothing. Voice was pinched and high as you squawked in his hold, “Sirius! I’m not qualified! This has to be illegal—”

“You’ve got a license, don’t you?”

“Not for this! I can barely drive a bloody Prius.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll stick a big ‘L’ plate on the back.” He winked. “That way everyone knows to stay the hell away.”

“Sirius, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s literally not that hard.” He hopped on behind you, guiding your hands to the handles, voice low and patient in your ear. “You’ll be fine.” Settling his hands on your hips as he whispered lowly, words clear with each demonstrative reve of the engine.

You made a few hesitant attempts with him helping from behind, feet planted, steering gently, fingers over yours like a guide. And honestly—it wasn’t that hard. Not with him purring instructions into your ear, chest warm against your back—not with the way he made everything feel stupidly safe.

Eventually, he stepped back and nodded toward the open space in the lot. “Alright. Go on. Try a little circle, hotshot.”

Your heart thumped in your chest. “You’re insane.”

“Mmhm. And yet you love me.”

You didn’t have time to deny it before you were inching forward, tires rolling with a gentle hum. Keeping it slow, circling once, then twice, wind brushing past your cheeks and Sirius watching from a distance with that annoyingly proud smile.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, the thrill, the rush—the undeniable adrenaline rushing through your veins, the feeling of invincibility going straight to your head.

Until the front wheel caught a thick stone on the ground just as you accidentally nudged the gear. The bike lurched forward, engine revving with unexpected speed. And panic crashed over you in an instant. Sirius was yelling—something about braking—but the sound was lost beneath the roar of the bike and the rush of blood in your ears.

Your hands fumbled—your balance tipped.

Catching sight of the brick wall in front of you, you swerved, narrowly avoiding it, but the motion threw you clean off the seat. And you hit the ground hard, a dull crack against your temple and your skin scraping viciously against concrete.

The pain was sharp, immediate, blooming hot across your arm and head.

You barely had time to process it before Sirius was there—running toward you, shouting your name—almost drowned out by the sound of the bike still revving a few meters away—shuffling against the gravel—dust kicking around the faintly turning wheel.

“Hey—hey, hey, I’ve got you—shit, love, stay still.” His hands were already on you, gentle but frantic, lifting you from the pavement as you winced, trying to blink away the spinning.

The whole underside of your arm stung, head throbbing as blood sticky and warm trickled from a gash above your brow. Sirius pressed the towel from his waistband to your forehead, muttering soft, soothing nonsense as he picked you up in his arms and carried you back into the garage.

“It’s okay, you’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, half-choked with guilt and panic—pulse still ringing in your ears. “The bike—I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what happened—”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He settled you on the edge of the workbench, your legs dangling as he stood between them, brushing hair from your face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“But I scraped it up—your bike’s probably all ruined—” you rambled, the words tumbling out in a breathless panic as you stared at the floor, the edges of your vision still fuzzy, the sting of your wounds flaring hotter with every second.

But Sirius was already in front of you, hands cupping your face with the kind of gentleness that shouldn’t have been possible from someone who’d just sprinted like his heart was on the line.

“Love.” His voice cut through your spiral like a balm. Steady. Low. Firm. “Right now, I don’t give a single shit about the bike.”

And then, with impossible tenderness, he leaned in—close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips, smell the faint trace of leather and metal and the shampoo you both used. Soft, fleeting, just a brush of his lips against yours like he wasn’t sure how much pressure you could handle right now. Like he didn’t want to break the moment, holding you like you were made of the finest china.

When he pulled back, air caught in your throat, heat swirling in your chest as his voice reached your ears.

“Just stay still,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nodded

He exhaled, watching your face for a beat longer, like he was making sure you were still in there with him, then turned slightly, tugging open a drawer beside the bench with one hand while the other still braced lightly against your knee.

The first aid kit clattered onto the surface beside you, and he opened it with quick, practiced motions. You watched, dazed, as he tugged on a pair of gloves, popped the cap off a bottle of antiseptic, and gently soaked a gauze pad.

You winced as he reached for your arm, the sting of your scraped skin reigniting the moment his fingers brushed near.

Sirius worked quietly, brows drawn together in concentration, the soft scrape of gauze against your skin the only sound between you. Deft fingers careful and precise, but even then the occasional sting had you wincing slightly, shifting on the bench—legs swinging slightly off the edge, watching the way he moved like he was doing something sacred.

He didn’t say much—just pressed a little harder here, smoothed tape there—and finally muttered, half to himself, "How on earth am I ever supposed to leave you alone?"

It was meant as a joke. A throwaway. But you latched onto it without thinking.

“You…you don’t have to,” you said softly. “You could just move in with me.”

There was a pause.

Not dramatic. Not crushing. Just…quiet. His hand didn’t stop moving, didn’t flinch or drop or freeze. Sirius just kept working, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the last of your scrapes. He hummed faintly in response, but it was dismissive—distant. Unreadable.

Your stomach twisted. Shame crept in, slow and thick, your body tensing in its wake.

Too soon. It’s too soon. You pushed it. He’s not there yet.

Quickly you averted you gaze, focusing on the dangle of you legs—each flick of your shoelaces, retreating into yourself. “Actually, um…I probably don’t need any more fixing up—I feel fine,”

You started to hop off the bench, your head still spinning slightly, one foot hitting the floor with a wobble. Pain flared through your arm and your side as you shifted your weight, making you stumble slightly.

Sirius straightened in alarm. “Whoa, hey—where are you going?”

“M’fine now,” words rushed and breathy, brushing at your shirt like it could distract from your spiraling, arm burning at the stretch of your skin. “Really, I’m okay.”

“You’re still bleeding,” he deadpanned, brows pinched in concern, reaching for your waist again to steady you. “Let me finish. We can go home, yeah?”

You didn’t reply. Just nodded, eyes locked on the floor while he coaxed you gently back onto the bench. He kept working, patching the final gash on your forearm—but now there was something different in the air.

A silence that wasn’t peaceful. Tension had crept in, curled around the space between you.

Even as he applied pressure to the scraps, spread cold ointment over your skin, you remained silent—lips pursed together. Just the occasional hiss, and then silence again. Staring at your shoes, at the concrete your feet swung above.

When Sirius finally finished, peeling off his gloves with a snap, watching you closely. His voice was gentler now, lower—and you could feel his breath fanning over the surface of your skin.

“What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, not looking at him.

So he stepped in closer, arms sliding around your waist, hands warm against your sides, caging you in. He tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Talk to me. Does your head hurt?”

You glanced up, lips pursing again as you shake your head slightly. There was no accusation in your expression—just uncertainty. Vulnerability. Like you were already preparing for rejection. And it made him pause for a moment—eyes scanning your face before his lips twitched at the corners.

“I do want to move in with you, love,” he said softly, eyes warm as he looked down at you. “Of course I do.”

He held you gaze as you blinked, lips parting. “You don’t have to say that. I’m not upset. It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to—really. I don’t know why I even said it—” Your voice sounded meeker than you’d wanted it too, not at all convincing.

“I’m not just saying it.” His voice dropped, edged with that dry Sirius Black sincerity that only ever showed itself when he needed you to believe him. “When do I ever just say things?”

Your brows arched upwards, giving him a long look. A very pointed one.

He huffed out a laugh, tipping his head like he was conceding the point. “Okay—fine, fair enough. But you asked me while I was trying to stop you bleeding out, trying to keep you from staining your lovely little outfit, by the way. I’m a simple man. Can’t focus on so many things at once.”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped your lips, even through the lingering ache of embarrassment. He leaned in and kissed your cheek—soft, warm, forcing any shame away. His voice was quieter when he added—

“But I meant it. I want to move in. I want to be with you. Always.”

It had your breath stilling in your lungs, he felt so much closer now—too close, maybe. Body still radiating heat, arms still looped securely around your waist, thumbs idly tracing the edge of your shirt. You felt flushed again, but not from pain.

Flushed like the blood was torn on where to go—bouncing around your body, from the tips of your ears, base of your neck to the plastered cut by your brow—torn.

“Really?” you mumbled, dazed.

His smirk curved slow and easy against your skin as he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw.

“Reaalllly,” he drawled, voice low and teasing—before capturing your mouth again, this time deeper. Certain. Like a promise. Like a yes.

And you melted into it, the sting of your wounds forgotten in the warmth of his hands, the slide of his mouth against yours—slow at first, like he was savouring the feel of your lips under his, but it didn’t stay slow for long.

The adrenaline hadn’t fully worn off; it simply shifted—into the warmth of his hands roaming under your shirt, the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the way your legs instinctively bracketed his hips when he stepped between them again. You were back on the counter, your fingertips tugging at the hem of his vest, pressing into the bare skin just beneath it, desperate to feel something real—him, all of him, grounding and warm and yours.

It was messy and breathless and a little bit frantic, Sirius always had that affect on you. Everything holding a bit more intensity than normal—his palms splayed across your hips, thumbs digging into the dip where your thighs met the curve of your body as his mouth trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw.

“’s good you said yes,” you murmured between kisses, breath hitching as his tongue flicked against your pulse, “because…I already cut you a key.”

He froze just slightly—only to chuckle lowly against your skin, lips brushing your throat. “I know,” voice rough with laughter. “Saw it in your bag last week.”

You pulled back, startled. “You what?”

Sirius grinned, impossibly smug, the kind of wolfish, pleased smile that could undo you far more than anything he’d just done with his hands. “Meant to be a surprise, was it?”

The glare you gave him was weak at best, completely undermined by the way your hands were still under his shirt, now dragging lightly against the curve of his ribs.

He laughed again—loud and delighted—before pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear, hands sliding to the curve of your back, pushing you into him. “Darling, how did you plan on keeping it a secret when I pack your bag every morning?” he asked, his words broken up by soft bites down your neck, tongue soothing the marks he left behind.

But you weren’t listening anymore.

The kisses had gone from teasing to distracting, and you were already breathless again, head tipped back, clutching at his vest as your thighs pulled him even closer.

You didn’t hear the car pulling around the corner.

Didn’t hear the idle screech of tyres over gravel. Or the distant clunk of the garage door as it creaked open.

Not until your eyes flicked sideways—catching a figure in your peripheral vision. A tall silhouette. Familiar glasses. Wide eyes.

A scream caught in your throat—coming out more like a shocked gasp, a strangled noise as you jolted as your entire body tensed—squeezing Sirius into a startle—nearly losing his footing as he spun around—arms coming up defensively like he thought someone had come to attack you.

Instead, there stood James Potter.

Frozen in the open doorway of the garage.

A bottle of wine dangling uselessly from one hand, and the most horrified, scandalised, absolutely floored expression etched across his face. His jaw hung open. Eyebrows nearly in his hairline. He looked like he’d walked in on a crime scene.

Sirius blinked, chest heaving, hair disheveled. “Prongs?”

His eyes landed on you first: flushed cheeks, bruised lips, a fresh bandage on your forehead, sitting on the bloody workbench like you'd been carefully laid out and devoured. His jaw all but fell off its hinges—finger point at Sirius as his eyes darted between the two of you.

James’ mouth opened and closed. Then opened again—arms lifting as he pointed furiously at Sirius. “What have you—what did you do to her?!”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, utterly unrepentant, but James was already in melt-down mode, voice pitching as the dots connected in his head.

“This—you’re, I—”A slow, disbelieving exhale escapes his lips. “No,” he says finally, softly, like he’s trying to convince himself. “No, nope. I’m not seeing this.”

You scramble a bit—pushing Sirius out from where he was slotted between your legs, hands tugging your shirt straight. “James, I—”

He cuts you off. “No.” He looks at you, expression unreadable—turning his sights on Sirius, who was rather unbothered considering how unbecoming the entire situation was.

“She’s injured, Sirius. Injured. And you’re—what—ravaging my friend in your greasy murder garage?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

“I was being gentle,”

Sirius shrugged with a light tone, dodging the nudge of your elbow that he knew was coming—and James nostrils flared slightly, like he’s biting down a thousand words.

Maybe you should have stayed silent—let Sirius deal with him, but you didn’t—words muttered beneath your breath, “He’s—he was patching me up?”

Sirius looked like he was biting his cheek to keep from laughing.

James gaped at you, expression mixed between disbelief and confusion “Right. Is that what we’re calling it!?”

You and Sirius stand in silence for a moment, his hand sliding around your waist again. And James drags a hand down his face again, throwing his hands in the air as he spun on his heel, already walking out.

“I don’t even wanna know anymore. I—I need a drink.”

60 notes · View notes

kathryn-maraudersversion · 1 month ago

Text

Serpents & Stars Part 4

Summary: You are not falling for the Marauders. You are not. They, however, seem determined to prove otherwise. And when James Potter pushes you a little too far, you finally snap.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders (James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin) x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt11

Your plan was simple.

You were going to pretend nothing had changed.

You were going to ignore the way your stomach flipped when James smiled.

You were going to ignore the way Sirius’ teasing didn’t bother you as much anymore.

You were going to ignore the way Remus’ quiet warmth made your chest ache.

You were not falling for them, and you were going to prove it. The next morning, you arrived at breakfast with a purpose. You sat at the farthest end of the Slytherin table, as far from the Marauders as physically possible.

Did that stop James from finding you? Of course not.

Did it stop Sirius from sliding into the seat beside you like he belonged there? No.

Did it stop Remus from watching you, patient and knowing as ever? Absolutely not.

James leaned in, all confidence and mischief. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

You took a deep breath. Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.

“I wish I could say I didn’t know you,” you muttered, stabbing your eggs aggressively.

Sirius snickered. “She’s in a mood today.”

Remus sipped his tea. “She’s been avoiding us.”

You froze, damn Remus and his stupid perception.

“I have not,” you said, voice clipped.

James raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t show up to the library yesterday.”

“I was busy.”

“You left the great hall the second we arrived.”

“I had things to do.”

Sirius smirked. “You ran away from us last night.”

Your jaw clenched. “I. Did. Not.”

James tilted his head, studying you, and then the bastard grinned. “Ohhh,” he said, something dangerous and delighted flickering in his eyes. “You’re scared.”

You slammed your fork down. “I am not scared of you, Potter.”

James’ smirk only widened. “Not of me. Of us.”

That was it. The last crack in your armour shattered.

You stood up so fast your chair scraped against the floor. The entire Great Hall turned to look.

But you didn’t care.

You glared at James, anger burning through you like wildfire. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

James blinked, clearly not expecting this much rage.

Sirius sat up straighter, intrigued. Remus, of course, just watched.

“You think you can just waltz into my life and what? Wear me down? Make me fall at your feet?” Your voice was low, sharp, venomous. “Because it’s a game to you, isn’t it? The thrill of the chase, the Slytherin girl who hates you, the one challenge you haven’t won yet.”

James frowned. “That’s not-”

You laughed, but it was bitter. “Well, congratulations, Potter. You win.”

His eyes widened. Sirius’ smirk faded. Remus’ jaw tensed.

You took a step closer, your voice dropping. “You want to know why I’ve been avoiding you? Because I let you get in my head. I let you make me think-” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”

You turned to walk away.

And that should have been the end of it.

But James Potter was a Gryffindor.

Which meant he had absolutely no self-preservation.

He grabbed your wrist before you could leave. “Wait.”

His grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm. Anchoring.

And when you looked at him.

Gone was the teasing glint in his hazel eyes. Gone was the cocky smirk. There was only sincerity. Frustration. Something raw and real.

“Is that really what you think?” James asked, voice low. “That we’re just playing with you?”

You couldn’t answer because if you said it out loud, it would mean you believed it and deep down, you weren’t sure you did.

Remus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You are impossible.”

Sirius leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “You think we don’t mean it? That we don’t actually care?”

Your throat felt tight.

“You call it a game,” James murmured, “but we’ve already lost.”

Your breath caught.

James let go of your wrist, stepping back. “Go on, then. Walk away.”

Sirius leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. If that’s what you really want.”

Remus just nodded, as if he already knew you wouldn’t.

And that was the problem because you could. You could walk away. Right now. Leave them behind. Pretend this had never happened. You could end it here. So why weren’t you moving? Why did your feet feel like they were glued to the ground? Why was your heart pounding like it was trying to tell you something? You clenched your fists. You were so close to freedom.

So why-

Why did it feel like letting go of them would be the real loss?

Taglist: @amatoanima @flaviaandbooks @nymanas @maraudersgirlsposts @bridkesby @yvessentials @treefairy-28 @navs-bhat @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @zoleea-exultant @hermionelove @starmaniii @kitcat912

308 notes · View notes

prongsinrevolt · 5 hours ago

Text

searched up what andromeda means and tell me this isn’t the most on-brand thing ever

like—

“an Ethiopian princess of Greek mythology rescued from a monster by her future husband Perseus”

so you’re telling me andromeda black was destined to run from the monster (read: the black family) and choose love over bloodline??

girl was literally named after someone who escaped a monster and chose her own fate.

Andromeda black said “yeah actually i will leave my toxic pureblood family and marry the muggleborn man i love”

icon behavior. prophecy fulfilled.

she was the rebellion.

i’ll insert the image for you all

27 notes · View notes

milunalupin · 4 months ago

Note

hi!! i was wondering if you could write a one shot for one of the mauraders?? you can choose which one (i was kinda picturing sirius) but one where he’s usually really confident around women and has a reputation for dating a lot but he develops a crush on you and loses every ounce of smoothness when you talk to him and the other mauraders tease him about it? only if you want:)

thank you so much for your request lovely ! i also thought of sirius when reading this so here he is !!

— cool cat

sirius black x reader ★ 409 words

"She's just a girl."

This was embarrassing. There he was, all rugged and tough looking in his beater gear, with his tail between his legs just because he caught sight of you looking as pretty as you did. You stood next to Lily, who had stopped by to chat with James after their Quidditch practice.

"You can talk to girls, you're Sirius Black." But as soon as you turned your head, your eyes meeting his, all his bravado crumbled. "Not as lovely as her, definitely not."

His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively took a step back, trying to compose himself, but it was already too late.

James's voice rang out from across the pitch. "Oi, Padfoot! Stop hiding behind the post and come say hello!"

Sirius’s face flushed a deep shade of red, a rare sight for the usually smooth and composed Gryffindor. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control, but he felt like a fool, the usual swagger he carried replaced by awkward steps.

“Come on, Sirius, you’re not afraid of a simple chat, are you?” you teased as he approached, clearly noticing how out of sorts he was.

"I—uh, I wasn’t… I wasn’t avoiding you or anything," he stammered, immediately cursing his own words. "Just—uh, you caught me off guard, that’s all."

Lily rolled her eyes, nudging James. "Oh, this is rich. Who knew our Sirius was so… shy?"

You smiled, clearly enjoying the show. “Shy? I don’t know about that,” you said with a teasing tilt of your head. “I’ve seen you charm half the girls in the school. Never thought I'd see the day you’d be the one tongue-tied.”

Sirius felt his face warm even more, realizing how ridiculous he must look. Pull it together, he told himself. “Tongue-tied? Not at all.” He forced a confident grin. “Just giving you a taste of my mystery. You know, keep things interesting.”

You bit back a grin, your expression turning more teasing. “Mystery, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?”

Sirius felt a flicker something—something he couldn’t quite name. “Oh, I’m full of surprises.”

James clapped him on the back, nearly sending him off balance. “Sirius Black, the master of charm, ladies and gentlemen,” he teased, looking like he was barely holding in his laughter.

You smiled at him, clearly enjoying the rare moment of vulnerability. "Don’t worry, Black. I’m not going to bite."

"Oh, I'm sure he'd love-"

"James!"

#marauders #marauders x reader #marauders era #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine

274 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 20 hours ago

Text

Quidditch (and more…)

Hi!! Just a little something for our favourite Marauder!

Hope you like it! It’s short but pretty sweet! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem! Reader

Warning: Fluff, a little bit of angst?, longing, idiots in love

Summary: Sirius plays Beater. You play Chaser in a rival team. And yet, you're friends. But when you're wounded during a match, Sirius gets scared. For a second, he thought he would lose you out there... could he live with himself if he lost his chance to tell you how he truly feels for you?

Word Count: 3981

Sirius Black's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

“Sirius. Orion. Black.”

You see his shoulders tense. You know using his full name gets under his skin, it’s a little mean, but then again he’s pissing you off so much…

“Don’t call me that.”

The corridor is drenched with shadows, only a dim light coming in from the spaces between the wooden boards. Above your heads, the crowd is roaring. This is Quidditch at Hogwarts, after all. It ought to mean something…

The way Sirius looks at you now, a mix of annoyance and something close to desire, ought to mean something, too.

By your side, the rest of your team is getting ready, focusing on the match to come. It’s sunny outside, you have a clear weather to welcome your match against Gryffindor. Perfect conditions to fight a difficult adversary. After all, Potter keeps his team well trained and well prepared. Since he became captain this year, the level of his players has noticeably increased. Still, you’ll do everything you can to kick their arses…

You should get in that mindset too, like your teammates. Think about the strategy you have come up with, think about this combination you’ve worked on with your fellow chasers, play the manoeuvres in your head. Instead, you stare at Sirius, his black hair falling over his eyes despite tying it in a bun. His grey eyes piercing your soul. The ghost of a smirk that slowly appears on his pink, tempting lips. The way he looks delicious in his red and gold attire, with his bat of Beater thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

You try to shake yourself out of your thoughts when you imagine his lips on yours. Merlin, this is ridiculous. This crush started the previous year, after you joined the Quidditch team. You had to share the pitch with the Gryffindors for a training session, because of an error in the booking of the training field. He had been kind. You had been surprised by him, he had taken you aback that afternoon, when he saw you struggling and had flown closer, had helped you with your position to avoid the next Bludger sent your way. After your practice was over, he had offered to help, offered to you a training session with him on Sunday. ‘And free of charge’, he had added with a charming wink and reddening cheeks.

It was unusual, to say the least, for two players of opposing teams to train together, but you did for a couple of months. Sirius and you would meet on the Pitch on Sundays, train for an hour. More often than not, you found yourselves in the library after that, finishing up your essays – or in Sirius’s case, starting them – while discreetly eating sweets. And it was lovely. So much so that even after you were more at ease with Bludgers, Sirius and you kept on coming to the Pitch just to spend some time flying together, talking about your week twenty meters above the ground. You kept on studying in the library. Now, you often lingered together after that, took walks about the grounds when the weather allowed, or going to the Gryffindor common room if it was quiet enough for the two of you to talk. Then summer came, and you were worried about the distance, about him forgetting you. But instead, you received a letter from him two days after coming home, a long missive telling you about the Potters and his life with them. And you replied, of course, with a long letter of your own. And throughout the summer, it became a rare occurrence for you not to be welcomed into your day by Sirius’s owl waiting patiently by your kitchen window.

Now, you’re back at Hogwarts, and the flying, the studying, the long hours talking came back naturally. And from an unexpected friendship, deeper feelings kept on blooming, almost overflowing the restraints of your chest now.

You don’t know what to do with them. There is a tension between you now, that wasn’t there last year, at the beginning. It’s hard not to notice it now, the thread that seems to connect Sirius and you, that keeps your thoughts turned to him at night, that makes your heart flutter whenever you see him, whenever you think of him…

By Agrippa’s twisted hat, you’re a desperate case…

“I bet you we’ll win, by over fifty points,” he smirks, insufferable.

You hate it when he’s like that. Haughty, something cold and precious to his tone. He knows it. He’s doing it to get under your skin and he successfully does. You clench your jaw, frustrated, trying not to act on impulse and grab him by the collar of his Quidditch uniform to kiss him…

“I bet I’ll win by more than fifty points.”

“What a delightful thing to have dreams. A shame I’ll have to shatter them.”

“Stop fraternising with the enemy,” James teases his friend as he walks across the corridor and passes between you and Sirius to stand before his team.

“Trust me, I’m not fraternising. I’m scaring the shit out of her.”

“In your wildest dreams,” you roll your eyes at him.

“You are aware that I’m the one in charge of the Bludgers, right?”

“I am aware.”

“I can target you. Specifically.”

“That would be playing foul, and I doubt your captain would like that. And it would be mean, and I doubt you would like that.”

Sirius refrains a smile, you see the corners of his mouth going slightly up.

“Us being friends means nothing out there,” he reminds you, nodding towards the closed wooden doors leading to the Pitch and the excited crowd.

“I know. That’s why I’m going to kick your arse.”

He laughs this time. Bright, loud, almost like a bark. You love this sound so much, you wish you could hear it all the time… It brings a smile to your lips…

You hear the announcement being made, the doors before you open and sunshine floods in, comes in unbearable rays. You blink to adapt to the bright light.

“Good luck. Be careful up there,” Sirius says in a lower voice, so you would be the only one to hear him.

“Good luck. Be careful too.”

You don’t see the way Sirius extends his fingers towards your hand, the way he stops before they can reach you, the way they shake as he folds them back into a fist.

Instead, you walk out and onto the pitch, climb onto your broom, and take off.

Sirius brushes sweat off his eyes, takes a second to catch his breath, hovering over the teachers while he analyses the game.

You’re tight for now. The Snitch hasn’t shown itself yet. It’s all about Chasers and scoring through the three rings for now, and Sirius has to find a way to keep the Gryffindor side of the Pitch safe. He looks at you as you fly before him, too fast for him to call on a Bludger, or even start to chase you. Instead, all he can do is watch, and think about how gorgeous you look in your Quidditch attire...

The crowd goes crazy as you score easily, it’s almost deafening. You fly before him, sending him a wink that makes his heart race and his stomach flutter.

Fuck…

Do you know what you’re doing to him?

You probably don’t, to be fair. He could be clearer about his feelings, he could tell you about them, he could confess it all. The fact that you’ve become more than a friend in the past few months, the fact that he thinks of you all the time, that he can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t find a minute of peace, unless you’re with him. Merlin, what a pitiful case Sirius has become…

He doesn’t dare, though. He knows he’s not perfect, his life is a mess, he doesn’t know what he’ll do after Hogwarts is over, so why drag you into his problems? No, you deserve better than that…

He takes a deep breath as he flies back into the game, slaloming between players. James calls him and Frank. He strengthens his glasses and wipes the sweat off his forehead, his dark hair a proper mess.

“Alright, let’s be a bit more aggressive now,” James orders. “I don’t want foul play, but we need to give them a proper fight, alright? Don’t be afraid to mess them up.”

Frank nods, but Sirius doesn’t. His heart clenches at the thought that you might get hurt.

“Pads? You’re okay?”

“Sure, why?”

“You understand what I’m saying? I don’t want foul play, but I want to roughen them up.”

“Okay.”

“Can you do that to her?”

James knows, of course he does. He reads right through his best friend, his brother. He knows Sirius can’t take the risk to hurt you. When he remains silent, James heaves a sigh.

“Frank, take care of Y/L/N.”

“Sure.”

Before Sirius can protest, his friends are flying away, and he’s left hovering there. His gaze searches for you without noticing…

Roughen them up…

He heaves a sigh, starts flying after your teammate who holds the Quaffles snuggly under her arm.

And indeed, there is a shift in the match. No foul play, but there is more contact, more pushes, more tackles, more Bludgers flying across the pitch. If the Gryffindors toughen their game, so does your team. When James elbows you while stealing the Quaffle, Sirius wants to punch him in the face…

You rub your painful ribs but don’t complain, merely start chasing after the Quaffle again. Merlin, you’re impressive, Sirius is on the verge of a heart attack.

His life was so much easier when he wasn’t in love with you. Or well, whatever it is he feels. He doesn’t dare admit it’s love. Love is too scary…

James scores, sending the stadium on fire. In the stands, McGonagall is laughing and celebrating. Sirius chuckles. Minie…

Alright, focus.

Your teammate as the Quaffle, Sirius flies to intercept a Bludger, sends him towards him. Perfect shot. The Quaffle falls right into Dorcas’s hands, and she crosses the Pitch to score again.

When Sirius looks at you again, you’re holding your ribs. Your eyes meet his. He silently asks if you’re okay, and you nod, send him a reassuring smile. There’s pain on your features still.

“Wake up, Pads,” James admonishes.

But Sirius sends him a glare. James rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t hurt your girlfriend. Nothing serious. Relax.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sirius answers automatically, bitterness making his tone incisive.

James’s gaze hardens.

“Put your head back into the game.”

“I am into the game, didn’t you see that perfect shot.”

“I’m serious, Padfoot. Focus. She’s a player, not your girl right now. She’s not your girl full stop, by the way.”

The words hurt more than James intended, but it’s too late. Sirius doesn’t control the tears that come to his eyes.

“Pads,” James winces, noticing his mistake.

“I’m focused. Let me do my job.”

Before James can reply, Sirius is flying away.

He circles the pitch again. He’s about to reach for a Bludger when the Chasers on your team get in a new position. It’s complex and taking everyone in Gryffindor aback, including Sirius. He watches as you twirl, avoiding James, avoiding Dorcas. A series of passes you make without looking at your teammates. It’s impressive, and Sirius can’t read your next move, he can’t guess safely what your trajectory is. It would be too dangerous to use a Bludger your way…

Right when he thinks this, takes the decision to fly close to you to try and slow you down instead of using a Bludger, he sees one of the vicious balls fly in your direction. Frank…

Sirius’s heart stops. He sees the whole scene in slow motion. The Bludger heading your way, the way you change trajectory in a move you’ve clearly repeated a hundred times before, how your teammates move with you and none of you see the Bludger coming because… it would be too dangerous to send one anyway. But Frank did.

His lungs are burning when he shouts.

“Y/N!”

But you don’t hear him, don’t stop. You change direction, and the Bludger is now set to hit you instead of passing by…

You don’t see it. You’re too focused, holding the Quaffle under your arm and making a bee-line towards the goalposts. A shudder shakes the crowd, knowing what will happen and cannot be stopped. Sirius starts flying at full speed towards you, not noticing anything else. But he’s too late. He can’t reach the Bludger, he can only see it collide with your shoulder. The cracking of bones is loud enough for him to hear it. You’re knocked out immediately because of the pain and the shock of the impact. He sees you slip from your broom, and now there’s a thirty meters fall…

He dives, as fast as he can. The whole stadium is shaken by a gasp, teachers are standing, some of them reaching for their wands, but Sirius is faster. He catches you before you hit the ground, lands roughly on the grass, but he secures you in his arms anyway while he stumbles to his knees.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes are closed. There’s no blood, but your shoulder is at a weird angle. Your breathing is laboured. Sirius feels panic overcome him, his rational thoughts, his reactions, his entire world…

“Y/N!”

He reaches for your cheek, brushing his thumb across it. His vision is blurred by tears.

Your captain is by his side now, so is Mrs. Pomfrey and the nurse bends over you, studying your features.

“Put her down on the ground. Gently.”

Sirius does as he’s told, and Mrs. Pomfrey examines your shoulder. She’s taken out her wand, speaks an incantation Sirius doesn’t know. Your breathing gets deeper, louder. You wince, and then your eyes open.

Sirius lets out a trembling sigh, and he’s never seen a more marvellous sight than your eyelids fluttering open now.

You wince, blink your eyes open and as soon as your gaze finds Sirius, you stare only at him.

“What’s going on?” you ask, your voice quiet, weak, a little hoarse.

Sirius reaches for your hand without registering what he’s doing, what he’s showing with that simple gesture. He holds on tight, his heart still pounding in his ears.

“You were hit during the match. Do you remember what happened?”

You frown in your focus.

“I didn’t see it…”

“No, you didn’t. You were too focused on that funky move you were pulling on us.”

A weak smile grazes your lips at the thought.

“It threw you all out. Did we score?”

“You got hit before that.”

“Shit… Why did you hit me anyway?”

“Of course, I didn’t. Frank did.”

But before you can speak again, Mrs. Pomfrey is standing up. Most of the teachers are on the Pitch now too, along with all the players from both teams, watching the scene.

“I’ll take her to the infirmary, but it seems too serious for me alone to handle. She’ll need to go to St. Mungo’s.”

You see the way Sirius’s eyes grow round, feel how his hold on your hand tightens.

“I will take her directly there, then,” Dumbledore decides, walking across the circle of teachers surrounding you.

“I’m coming with her,” Sirius states, his tone leaving no place for an argument.

But he’s still a student, and Dumbledore shakes his head.

“I’ll take good care of her, do not worry.”

But Sirius shakes his head, he can feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m coming.”

He looks back at you when you give his hand a squeeze.

“I’ll be okay. You can come see me when I’m back at Hogwarts.”

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.”

Sirius heaves a sigh, but how can he argue? It’s your decision… And so, when Dumbledore approaches, he lets go of your hand, and let the old wizard carry you away.

He’s on the verge of crying when James rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“She’ll be fine, Padfoot. Don’t worry, she’ll be okay.”

He needs to tell you.

It’s three in the morning, and in the boy’s dormitories, everything is quiet. Peter is slightly snoring, but Sirius can’t hear it, thanks to the soundproofing spell he casted upon his bedframe. It’s just silence, inside his bed. He stares at the painted ceiling, at the carved wood. Alone with his busy thoughts.

He needs to tell you he loves you.

He got such a scare today. News were brought back from the hospital earlier in the evening. You had a dislocated shoulder, a broken rib, your shoulder blade was broken as well. But Healers at St. Mungo’s perform miracles on a daily basis. You will be fine. You’ll spend three days there, and then will stay at the infirmary for a week, maybe two. And you will be back on a broomstick in a month.

Still, Sirius can’t shake off that feeling. That sense of panic, of utter fear and desolation. For a moment, he thought you would die. For a moment, he thought he would never have the chance to tell you how he feels again. When he held you in his arms, with your eyes closed and your breathing laboured, when he saw you falling…

He can’t stand it. The thought that you could leave this world without knowing that you mean everything to him. The thought that he could lose you and spend the rest of his life regretting his silence…

He’ll have to make it clear that he doesn’t expect anything. He simply wants to confess this secret of his, nothing more. He’s certain you don’t feel that way. That’s alright. It won’t change a thing. He simply needs to ease that burden off his shoulders. He’s been carrying it for too long…

Yes, he’ll tell you, when you come back to Hogwarts. He’s taken his decision. When he closes his eyes again, he can finally fall asleep…

You’re bored out of your mind.

You hate lying in bed like this. Idle. You have a thousand things to do, and yet you’re stuck here…

Some friends came earlier, but they’re gone to attend their classes now, and you’re left alone with that single ray of sunshine coming in by the window. There’s a blue sky out there, you can’t even go out and see it for real, you can only watch it through the windowpane.

“Hey.”

You turn your head too fast at the sound of his voice. It’s Sirius, obviously, you’ve recognized him immediately. He gives you one of his charming crooked smiles, and walks across the room to stand by your side.

“Sirius!”

He chuckles at the joy in your voice. You should tune it down, but you can’t. Your heart is making happy jumps in your chest as you watch him smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little in pain, but I’m okay. I’m bored, more than anything else. Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, eyes the side of your bed. You scoot over to make room for him, and he chuckles at the silent invitation before sitting on the mattress.

He looks gorgeous, his hair falling over his face, his grey eyes piercing your soul…

“I’m glad you’re okay. You gave us all quite a scare.”

“I didn’t see the Bludger.”

“I told you to be careful.”

“I didn’t think anyone would take such a risky shot!”

“Don’t worry about that. James talked with McGonagall, Frank won’t play for the rest of the season.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose.”

“It’s his job to weigh the risks, and he didn’t. He endangered you, you got hurt. He’s out of the team for the rest of the year.”

You would argue that you don’t mind if he keeps playing, but you don’t want to argue with Sirius now. You want to talk with him, you want him to stay…

“How are your classes? And… shouldn’t you be in class?”

“History of Magic,” is his only answer, and you roll your eyes.

“Right…”

“I’ll get you all the notes and stuff while you’re here, don’t worry.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He’s staring at you in silence for a moment, and he seems to grow nervous. Why would he be nervous? And around you, of all people?!

“You’re alright?” you ask him with a frown.

He nods, but he’s lying, and you know he’s lying. He’s terrible at it. Once you know him, know how to recognize the little signs, it’s easy to spot that he’s hiding something. And he is, right now…

“What’s bothering you? You know you can tell me anything.”

He lets out a deep exhale, before staring right into your eyes. There are so many emotions brewing in the grey of his irises then. Fear, nerves, fondness…

“I… I do have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

You reach for his hand, and he gives your fingers a tender squeeze, one that means a silent ‘thank you’. He glances at the bandage that holds your other arm tightly secured against your chest. And the sight of your injury seems to give him the final push he needs to speak.

“I… I need to tell you something… I…”

He clears his throat.

“Look, I know that you don’t feel the same, and I don’t mind, and I don’t expect anything from you but…” he rushes through his words, you barely have time to hear them, let alone fully understand them. “But I really like you. Like… more than a friend. And I didn’t mean to tell you, but I was so fucking scared when you got hurt, for a second I really thought you would… I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you how I feel, and… so I thought… I had to tell you. But I don’t expect anything to change, I just wanted to say it. That you’re more than a friend to me. Even if I’m just a friend to you.”

His cheeks have turned a wild shade of crimson, and you don’t remember Sirius ever blushing so much.

You let his words sink in, while the room settles in a tense silence. Sirius averts his eyes, looks away.

You can’t be understanding all this right… he… he can’t feel like this for you?!

“I hope I’m not ruining our friendship, cause I don’t want to lose you,” he confesses in a whisper.

You’re not sure what to say, but you have to say something, because you can see the wheels turning in Sirius’s head, you can hear his internal monologue bullying him, you know he’s spiralling right now. When his hand starts moving out of your grasp, you know he’s going to run away.

You let go of his hand, and place your palm on his cheek. He looks up again.

You don’t know what to say, but you hope he can see it in your eyes, in the tears that form there.

“I feel the same.”

These are the only words you can summon, but it doesn’t matter. In his eyes, you see that he feels more than what he confessed, and in your gaze he reads that you want more than friendship as well. And that’s enough. So much is spoken without saying a thing, so many emotions are shared in that fragile moment.

You both start crying, and let out a nervous chuckle at the same time. Your heart is going to explode, butterflies are flying everywhere…

“When you’re out of here… would you like to go on a date with me?” he asks, his voice made hoarse by his bubbling emotions.

You give him grin.

“I would love to, Sirius. I would love to.”

#sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius x fem!reader #sirius x you #sirius x y/n #sirius orion black #sirius fanfiction #sirius fanfic #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fanfiction #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hp #hp marauders #hp fandom #hp fanfic

24 notes · View notes

lupinsversion · 6 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 - 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐠

• summary: sirius has a bad habit of flirting with others, especially in front of his girlfriend. has she finally had enough?

• contains: sirius black x fem reader, established relationship, flirting with others, angst

• word count: 850

masterlist || requests

Sirius had been dating his girlfriend for a year by now, and it was a pretty steady relationship. They argued like any other couple, but overall things were good between them.

But Sirius had a habit of being overly flirtatious with other girls, even though he never did anything physically. Sometimes his comments would be a bit over the line, and it would irritate her to no end.

He was in the common room, lounging on the couch with his legs propped up on the table. A couple of their friends were sitting around him, chatting amongst themselves.

He was idly watching the other students in the room, his eyes casually scanning the scene when he spotted a group of girls laughing and giggling together.

His girlfriend sat beside him, curled up on the couch reading the latest copy of the Daily Prophet. She didn’t notice his eyes going astray, her own eyes too focused upon the paragraph she was reading.

He continued watching the girls, his eyes lingering on the curves of their bodies and the way their hair fell across their shoulders. He couldn’t help but admire them, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

One of the girls suddenly caught his gaze, and smiled at him, fluttering her lashes coyly. He felt a thrill of excitement at the attention, and couldn’t help but smirk back.

His girlfriend glanced over at him through the corner of her eye with furrowed brows, questioning what had caught his attention. But once she saw what, or rather who, she frowned.

He didn’t notice the look she was giving him, his eyes still glued to the girl across the room. The girl was giggling now, her friends shooting knowing glances in his direction. He could feel his ego swelling at the attention, thriving on the looks and the obvious attraction.

Slowly, she closed the paper quietly to ensure she didn’t capture his attention. Her hands began to roll the paper up as her gaze never left his face.

He was still focused on the other girls across the room, completely oblivious to the paper in her hands. He was feeling quite smug now, knowing that he was the object of the girls’ admiration.

He shot them a cocky grin, his eyes smoldering with confidence. He felt invincible, untouchable, knowing fully well that he had the charm to make any girl swoon.

But before he could fully register any of it, she smacked him on the top of his head with the paper, a frown on her lips.

He was snapped out of his self-satisfied haze by the sudden smack on the top of his head. He let out a surprised yelp, whipping his head around to look at her with wide eyes. “Ow!” He exclaimed, rubbing the top of his head with a grimace. “What the hell was that for, love?”

“Bad dog.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes at her comment. He knew exactly what she was referring to. “I was just looking,” he muttered defensively. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You were flirting.” Her frown grew more.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He knew he was busted. “It’s just harmless flirting.” He tried to justify himself. “It doesn’t mean anything, I swear.”

James and Remus, who had been paying attention to the exchange between them, couldn’t help but chime in. “You know, padfoot,” James piped up, a small smirk on his face. “Harmless flirting is still flirting.”

“Yeah, mate,” Remus added, an amused look on his face. “Just because you say it’s harmless doesn’t make it any less disrespectful to your girlfriend here.”

She was still frowning as she stood up from the couch, looking a bit defeated.

The look on her face sent a pang of guilt through Sirius’ heart. He hated seeing her look so dejected, and knew he was responsible for causing it.

He stood up from the couch, reaching out to grab her wrist before she could walk away. “Wait, love, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice pleading. “Please, don’t go.”

She shook her head slowly, pulling away. “I’m going to bed.”

He watched as she walked away, a feeling of frustration and helplessness washing over him. He knew he had messed up, and he hated himself for it.

He slumped back onto the couch, letting out a deep sigh. James and Remus looked at him, their expressions a mixture of sympathy and disappointment.

“Smooth move, mate.” James quipped, shaking his head.

Remus just sighed, looking sympathetic. “You know she doesn’t like it when you flirt with other girls.”

“I know, I know,” he grumbled, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I just… can’t help it sometimes, you know? The attention, the looks, it’s just so bloody hard to resist. But I know it upsets her, and I hate that. I just wish I could control myself better.”

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head at something. “You know she called you a ‘bad dog,’ right?” He teased.

Sirius groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

“You know, it’s actually quite fitting,” James piped up, a sly smirk on his face. “All considering.”

#marauders #the maraunders map #james & peter & remus & sirius #harry potter #remus lupin #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius x you #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #sirius being sirius #sirius black x self insert #sirius black #sirius orion black #james potter

800 notes · View notes

etclouie · 2 days ago

Text

week one; day three — rockstar!sirius

⋆˚✿˖° — title; dedicated to my love (Sirius Black x fem!reader)

⋆˚✿˖° — warnings; established relationship, rockstar!sirius x reader, sirius dedicates the last song of his set to reader, readers a little shy + sirius announces that, lowk bad ending mb😣☝️ (day 3 of @acourtofchaos ‘s au festival)

⋆˚✿˖° — word count; 444

⋆˚✿˖° — a/n; forever in love with rockstar!sirius

prev day | next day au festival masterlist | main masterlist

you were at one of Sirius’ gigs, watching just off stage as he performed song after song, a smile on your face the whole time.

it was nearing the end of his set, when Sirius glanced off stage towards you, offering a smile before he spoke into the mic.

“now this next song is dedicated to a very special person, she’s my better half and my best friend”

ieiusySirius told, holding a hand out your way and beckoning you towards him. you shook your head, but you knew you couldn’t leave him hanging, not on stage like this.

slowly you moved towards him, heat rushing across your face while Sirius smiled at ypuyou.

his right arm wrapped around yourhis shoulders to oullpull you into his chest, he pressed a kiss to your head while the crowd cheered behind you.

he pressed another kiss to your head, before meeting your lips in a soft kiss, making the crowd cheer louder.

you shook your head again, whispering against Sirius’ lips.

“you’re an asshole”

his lips curled into a smirk, at your words, his eyes gleamed with a mix of love and teasing before he pulled back to look at the crowd.

you stayed against his chest as he spoke into the microphone again.

“she’s a little shy, but this is her first time hearing this song”

Sirius explained into the mic, a smirk on his face as he seen the look on your face.

you looked at him with a mix of love and disbelief, but you couldn’t hate him. could never hate him. even when he put you on the spot like this, in front of so many people.

“it’s called ‘my love’—about finding my way in a lost world and love finding me when i needed it most”

you smiled at him as he spoke about the song, watching as he nodded to the band behind him and the tune started to play.

the beat was something you’d heard him work on late at night, when he thought you were asleep.

but to hear it now? and to know it’s true meaning? it meant the world to you.

Sirius kept his eyes on you the whole time he performed the song, your love beaming back at you.

as the song came to a close, Sirius held out his hand to you, pulling you back into him and into another kiss.

“i love you, my sweet girl”

you smiled against his lips, stealing another kiss before he pulled back to thank the crowd.

“thank you to everyone that came out tonight, appreciate you all! lots of love from me, ‘my love’ is out tomorrow!”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

25 notes · View notes

yrluvjane · 1 month ago

Text

Father's Daughters

Summary: We all know Sirius Black is good at the baby making part, it's time to how good he is at keeping them alive.

The first time Sirius Black held his daughters, he forgot how to breathe.

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and sweat, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry hornets. Sirius stood frozen in the doorway, his leather jacket still damp from the rain outside, his throat tight as he took in the scene before him.

You were propped up against the pillows, exhaustion etched into every line of your face—but smiling, Merlin help him, smiling like you'd just conquered the world. And in your arms...

Two.

Two tiny, squirming bundles wrapped in identical blue blankets. Two sets of miniature fingers curled into fists. Two perfect noses scrunched in synchronized protest at the cold hospital air.

"Sirius?" Your voice was hoarse, but warm. "Come meet your girls."

His boots squeaked against the linoleum as he crossed the room in three strides, his hands hovering uselessly over the bassinet. "I—" The words caught in his throat. "Fuck."

You laughed—a tired, breathless sound that made his chest ache. "Eloquent as ever."

One of the babies chose that moment to let out a piercing wail. Then the other joined in, because apparently twins did everything together.

Sirius's eyes widened in panic. "Why are they—what do we—are they broken?!"

The mediwitch smirked as she adjusted your IV. "They're hungry, Mr. Black. Perfectly normal."

"Normal," Sirius repeated faintly, watching in horror as you calmly guided one infant to your breast like this wasn't the most terrifying thing he'd ever witnessed. His knees buckled. James caught him before he hit the floor.

"Breathe, mate," James whispered, patting his back. "You're doing great."

"I'm not doing anything!" Sirius hissed, staring at the tiny human currently latched onto your nipple with the determination of a starving hippogriff. "What the fuck is that?!"

You shot him a look—the same one you'd given him when he'd tried to convince you a motorcycle was a perfectly reasonable mode of transportation for a pregnant woman. "Biology, Padfoot. Keep up."

Three Months Later

3:17 AM.

The scream that shattered the silence could have curdled milk.

Sirius bolted upright so fast he nearly headbutted the mobile hanging over the crib. "Which one?!"

"Does it matter?!" you groaned from beneath the mountain of pillows you'd buried yourself under.

Lyra—because of course it was Lyra—was currently attempting to shatter the sound barrier with her lungs. Her sister Cassie, ever the opportunist, had somehow wriggled out of her swaddle and was trying to eat the crib bars.

Sirius stumbled toward them like a man marching to the gallows. "Merlin's balls, it's like living with a pair of drunk pixies," he muttered, scooping up Lyra with one hand while attempting to block Cassie's escape with his foot.

The bottle warmer beeped. The dog barked downstairs (because yes, they'd gotten a dog, because apparently sleep deprivation murdered common sense). Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor started banging on the wall.

Lyra's tiny fist connected with his nose.

"OW— okay, that's fair," Sirius conceded, adjusting his grip. "But if you could not give Daddy a black eye before his meeting with the Wizengamot, that'd be swell."

You appeared in the doorway like a vengeful spirit, hair sticking up in twelve directions, dark circles under your eyes. Without a word, you plucked Cassie from the crib and collapsed into the rocking chair, your nightshirt slipping off one shoulder as you guided her to your breast.

Sirius stared.

"What?" you snapped.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just... you're really good at that."

You blinked. Then—miracle of miracles—laughed, the sound bright and sudden in the predawn gloom. "That's what you're focusing on right now?"

Sirius grinned, shifting Lyra to his other arm. "Well, I was going to mention how sexy you look covered in baby vomit, but I didn't want to sound weird about it—OW!"

The thrown pacifier bounced off his forehead.

Four Years Old

The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in a flour factory.

Sirius froze in the doorway, taking in the scene: two tiny carbon copies of himself standing atop the counter, their dark curls dusted white, their grins unrepentant. The bowl of cake batter they'd been "mixing" was currently upside down on the floor. The dog—the traitor—was licking it enthusiastically.

"...We helped," announced Lyra, her chin jutting out in that terrifyingly familiar Black family stubbornness.

"Lots," added Cassie, nodding so vigorously her flour-powdered pigtails bounced.

You leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, covered in what appeared to be blue frosting. "They insisted it was your recipe," you said sweetly.

Sirius opened his mouth. Closed it. Then—

"Prongs!" he bellowed over his shoulder. "We need backup!"

James appeared instantly—because of course he'd been lurking in the living room waiting for this exact moment. He took one look at the disaster and burst out laughing. "Mate, they're mini-yous. This is karma."

Sirius scowled, but it was hard to maintain when Cassie launched herself off the counter and into his arms, leaving a perfect floury handprint on his favorite leather jacket. Lyra, ever the opportunist, seized the moment to stick her entire hand into the remaining batter.

"Daddy," she said, with the gravitas of a seasoned politician, "cake is important."

You snorted into your coffee.

Sirius looked down at his daughters—flour-covered, batter-smeared, and utterly delighted—then at you, frosting in your hair and a smirk on your lips, and felt his heart do that ridiculous squeeze it always did when he remembered how lucky he was.

"Yeah," he sighed, kissing Cassie's floury forehead before reaching for you. "Yeah, it is."

And if he may or may not have charmed the remaining flour to explode into glitter when Remus walked in later—well. Some traditions were meant to be passed down.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #harry potter x reader #marauders era #sirius x reader #sirius x you #sirius orion black #sirius black x fem!reader #harry potter #marauders x reader #sirius black blurb #sirius black drabble #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #marauders #the marauders

302 notes · View notes

aurynsia · 5 months ago

Text

Like The Movies

Sirius Black x Bookworm!Reader

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Summary: You meet a mysterious man in a bookshop who falls for your sunshine personality…

Warnings: Nothing serious (pun intended), grumpy x sunshine dynamic, Marlene once again being the best wingman (it’s a tradition atp), reader is referred to as a girl with she/her pronouns, reader is oblivious to Sirius’ flirting.

Word count: 0.7K

Masterlist

A/N: I couldn’t get this meet cute idea out of my head so I had to write it! Basically all fluff and no plot, Sirius just thinks you’re adorable <3

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Ding!

The bell above the bookshop’s door rang in an echoing call as you stepped inside, a giddy smile spread across your face. You had finally finished your summer reading list, with a chilled breeze marking the end of your book-buying ban.

Preparing to hibernate in your cosy bedroom with a stack of classics, you skipped your way through the aisles to the counter of the store’s joint cafe.

Ordering a hot drink to keep off the chill of the midday breeze, you flashed a grateful grin at the blonde behind the counter as you rounded the aisles, making a beeline for the classic fiction.

You stumbled through the maze of novels, making mental notes of each book you had already read. You found yourself passing three aisles before you discovered a title you didn’t recognise.

Lifting the book to flick through the pages, your gaze intuitively lifted at the presence of someone further down the aisle.

That’s when you saw him.

A dark stroke of hair dropped down his shoulders, collecting in sweet spirals at his chest. His bright eyes held a dark splash of mischief in their depths as he towered over the shelves. His gaze was focused on the book in his hand, eyes flicking over the blurb on the back cover.

Peering over with curiosity, your eyes lit up at the title on the front as he flipped the book in his hands. “That’s my favourite! I’ve read it six times,” you blurted at the mystery man.

His gaze flicked to yours in an instant, a flash of surprise gracing his features before he relaxed into a soft smirk at the sight of you. “Would you recommend it, Dove?” He spoke with a lighthearted and teasing tone as he leisurely stepped closer to your ecstatic self.

“Absolutely! It’s a masterpiece, the author is so talented! You should totally read it,” you rambled, not catching the amusement mixed with adoration in the stranger’s eyes as he watched you.

His head tilted to the side like a curious puppy, listening intently as you gushed over the plot, the characters, the handsome romantic lead, and the optimistic heroine.

He slyly reached for a second copy of the same book on the shelf as you spoke, tucking it under the one already settled in his grasp. You were in your own world at this point, and the man couldn’t help but fluster at your adorable excitement over words on a page. What is this girl doing to me? he mentally asked himself.

She’s got me wrapped around her finger and she doesn’t even know it.

He was beginning to grow soft.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You eventually remembered to introduce yourself after a series of rambled facts about the book tumbled out of your mouth. The stranger found you to be the most endearing creature he’d ever met.

“I’m-“

“Sirius? Y’Iced latte’s ready!” He hurried over to the blonde behind the counter who finished his sentence, flashing you an apologetic smile over his shoulder with a slight blush to his cheeks.

Marlene’s gaze fell on the books held tightly in his hands with an arched eyebrow. “Sirius Black, reading a book? My, I thought I’d never see the day!” He laughed while motioning for her to keep her voice down, leaning in closer while you browsed.

“It seems I’ve taken a liking to the little bookworm over there, wriggled her way right into my heart,” he motioned towards you with a smirk as Marlene spots you curiously reading the blurbs of various classics. “Said this was her favourite,” he held up the books in his hands with an uncharacteristically bashful smile, brushing the gesture off nonchalantly. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her I was buying it for Moony’s birthday.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, passing him his drink along with a napkin and a pen. “You’re hopeless, Black, really,” she whispered, turning around to pick up another order.

His eyes lit up at the sight of the pen, “You really do know me well, Marls! And to think I only keep you around for the coffee,” he quipped, though his tone held no bite. He scribbled on the napkin before Marlene passed your drink into his grasp, sending her a final look of gratitude before turning back to you.

“Here you go, love. Now, what was that sequel about again? What happens next?” You glanced up as he handed you your drink with a sweet grin, oblivious to the napkin sitting on top with a phone number scrawled across it, waiting to be discovered as you launched into an explanation with a giggle.

“Wait- no! I can’t tell you, spoilers!”

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

604 notes · View notes

angie-likes-to-art · 5 days ago

Text

Fic Recs (Wizarding World VI)

All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Wizarding World One Two Three Four Five Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

Hypocrite by @evergone

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader Summary: “The reader is embarrassed by the hickies Theo left on her, but she's not one to speak.”

Only Me by @amiableness

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader Summary: “Desperate to get a persistent girl off his back, Enzo and reader kiss. But when the kiss unexpectedly turns heated, Theo loses it.”

In Another Life (Series, Ongoing) by @astonishment

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader, James Potter x Reader Summary: “𝖨𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖠𝖽𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋; 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍.”

Academic Affair, Prologue by @fandomlit

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “being a professor at hogwarts always brought you an interesting day, but your past starts to reappear in odd ways: in the son of one of your former best friends, a dog you can't stop seeing, and an old crush getting the cursed job the school. it all looks to mean one thing--it's time to stop running from the things you tried hard not to think about.”

Voodoo Doll by @moonpascal

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader Summary: “theo can’t get you out of his head. which could only mean you put a spell on him. or loosely based on a song”

Let Me by @distantdarlings (18+ Only)

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader Summary: Theodore Nott has been harassing you ever since he found out you had a crush on him. Now, you’ve been paired together for a project for McGonagall’s class and he has nothing good in mind.

By Tired Hands by @luveline

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Roomate!Reader Summary: “remus’ touch after a long night prompts a tired confession (and a slew of clumsy kisses).”

What You Need by @marauder-misprint

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Potter!Reader Request: “can you write 62 for the dialogue prompt with remus? maybe she’s james’ sister and a flirt just like him. bc jealous rem ✅✅ they’re dumb for each other but sooo oblivious”

Blood Quill by @jasmines-library

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Request: “hi!! i love your new marauder writings! could you do something with remus and his sense of smell- could either be an angsty one or a fluffy one- not sure what you are comfy writing (like she’s on her period, got injured by accident or by someone else, or she has self-h*rmed) ignore this if you’re uncomfortable! realizing now i should’ve looked for your request rules 😖”

Their Favorite Show by @justagirlwholikesadam (18+ Only)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Summary: “Sirius and James have a secret. They love watching Remus fucking his girlfriend, you. Without both of you knowing.”

69 notes · View notes

juleswritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Am I the only one who thinks most of the Marauders and the Slytherin Skittles would have the biggest praise kink in history ?

warnings: smut

James would have one because of his constant need to be perfect, to be what he thinks the others need him to be: the perfect son, the perfect friend, the perfect student. But he always has doubts ‘am I enough ?’, ‘am I doing enough ?', ‘will they like me ? ’, ‘what if they don’t ? what if they hate me ?’ He needs to be reassured that he is. He is enough, he is more than enough.

I feel like it would be more prominent while he is intimate with you. He is mostly afraid of not living up to the expectation he thinks you have of him. So you make sure he knows that he makes you literally touch the sky.

‘That was the best match i’ve ever watched ! Merlin, you were brilliant on that broom James’ after Gryffindor wins the last match of the year.

‘What do you mean ‘stupid’ ? They’re your glasses baby, they help you see. And you look really hot wearing them in my opinion’ after he overhears someone talking about another person and saying they look stupid with that specific pair of glasses.

‘Like that, baby. You’re doing so good’ while he is covering your neck with kisses and gentle bites.

‘Yes, yes, fuck, right there Jamie’ after a particularly deep and strong thrust leaves you breathless.

‘You look so good between my legs, love’ while he is eating you out messily and hungrily and so, so perfectly.

‘No one feels as good as you. No one could ever make me feel the way you do, James’ while he is still inside of you, catching his breath and looking at you with devotion.

‘Are you sure it was ok ?’

‘James, it was more than ok. My legs are shaking baby, that's a sign that it was pretty damn amazing’

‘Are you serious ?’

‘Apart from the very lame joke I am sure you’re thinking about, yes, I am. Actually, why don’t I show you how serious I really am ?’

‘What do you mean, baby?’

‘I mean that you’re gonna fuck me again and i’ll show you how much I always crave your lips, then a third time and i’ll make sure the entire castle hears how you can make me cry with just your tongue, then a fourth because that perfect dick of yours needs to be fucking worshipped, and, finally, a fifth to show you that you fuck me so good that not a single coherent thought processes in my head when you're taking me apart on your cock, Jamie’

Remus would have one because he has hated himself his whole life. He feels like a monster, like he doesn’t deserve all the love he is surrounded by, like all the good things people say about him are just lies. And he knows the truth, he knows he is nothing but an horrid creature and that he doesn’t deserve to be loved. Except that it isn’t the truth, and you tell him everyday.

With him I feel like it would be more out of the bedroom, and outside of sex, but not exclusively.

‘You’re really good at that spell Remus, mind showing me how it’s done ?’ after he gets a rather difficult charm right at the first try.

‘You look very hot today, Rem. Well, you look hot everyday actually’ which makes him blush from head to toes.

‘You’re the best, you know ? You really are’ after he explains a difficult concept that nobody else got, but him.

‘Holy hell, right there Remus. You feel way too good’ while he eases in and out of you with a steady rhythm, knocking the air out of your lungs.

‘You take such good care of me’ while he is going down on you, slowly, sensually and with a glint of hunger in his eyes, knowing exactly what to do to make you fall apart.

‘I love you, you know that right ?’

‘Yes, darling. You tell me everyday’

‘Well, that’s not enough. From now on, I'll tell you twice a day’

‘But why ?’

‘Because it’s true' and then you give him the sweetest kiss.

Sirius would have one because he has been told his whole life that he wasn’t enough. That he needed to be better, to do better, to be a better heir for the Noble House of Black, to be a better son, to be a better brother. He was told that he was worthless, that his parents had no use in having a son like him. He was a disappointment, a shame to the family. For them he didn’t exist anymore.

But for you he was the most perfect person to ever walk on earth. Your brightest star.

He would love it both inside and outside the bedroom. I feel like he would also ask you to tell him something that makes him feel good, especially when he is having a bad day. He has no problem being praised in public, but he becomes especially vulnerable when you’re intimate because he can finally let go.

‘Tell me what did I do to have the best boyfriend ever ?’ After he brings you flowers one day because he told you they reminded them of you.

‘It’s ok Sirius, you’ll get it eventually. You’re one of the best students, you just need a bit more time which is totally fine’ after the tenth time he tries to get one of the most difficult spells right, only for it to go wrong.

‘You’re worth it Sirius. You’re worth every single good thing that happens to you, never doubt that’ after he breaks down reading one of his mothers older letters, full of foul words directed at him.

‘You’re such a good boy, aren’t you ?’ after he listens to you so well, kissing every inch of your body.

‘Fuck, you should see yourself baby. You look so good, so perfect for me’ while you’re on his lap, riding him slowly to savor that sultry fucked out expression on his face that makes you go feral.

‘You’re so sweet, Sirius, do you know that ? So fucking sweet’ after you bob your head on his length, swirling your tongue around his head to suck gently as his taste coats your mouth.

‘Was I good ?’

‘You’re always good, Sirius. More than’

‘Are you sure ?’

‘Do you want me to describe in detail how good you are at splitting me open in every position known to man ? Because I can do that if you want. Might take three whole days though, a week if you want me to talk about that sinful tongue of yours, too’

‘I think we have enough time’ and then you both start laughing.

Regulus would have one because he’s been second his whole life. Second for his brother, second for his parents before Sirius left , sometimes he feels second even for his friends. He thinks no one cares deeply about him, he’s just there as a rebound. He’s never been anyone’s first choice, and he thinks he never will be.

You make sure he knows that not only he would be your first choice in every lifetime, but that he would also be the only choice for you, no one else would or could ever compare. He is the center of your universe after all.

I feel like he would blush like crazy and pretend he is annoyed by your words when you’re in public and you praise him even for the simplest thing, but his eyes would also warm up a little, just for a second, before going back to his blank and rather stoic expression. He would be a mess in the bedroom though, when he can finally let go and he allows himself to feel good about the sweet words that leave your lips.

‘You have the prettiest eyes I have ever seen’ after he catches you staring at him for a moment too long.

‘Your poems are literally art, Regulus. I can’t believe you can write like this, you know this is pure talent, right ?’ after he shows you his poems for the first time and you nearly cry because more than half of them are dedicated to you.

‘You were so good up there, Reggie. And the way you caught the Snitch ? Fucking incredible. You are incredible’ after Slytherin wins one of the biggest matches of the season thanks to Regulus catching the Snitch one minute from the end.

‘You feel so good, love. Stretching me out so well’ after his cock slides inside of you perfectly, filling you up so nicely.

‘Eyes on me, Regulus. They’re so gorgeous, I want them focused me while I make you cum, ok ? Be good and keep them open’ as you stroke his length up and down, feeling the velvety soft skin on your palm as you give his head a gentle suck, tasting him on your tongue.

‘You’re so pretty when you’re all fucked out, Reggie. You feel so good taking me like this’ while you’re riding him and he looks at you with hazy eyes, lust and pure bliss fogging his brain’

‘I’m yours Regulus. I’m undoubtedly, irrevocably and utterly yours’

‘Promise me’

‘I promise, I’m not going anywhere. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever, actually’

‘Mmh, it’s gonna be hard, but I’ll survive I guess’ while you’re still joined, one body and one soul as you kiss him slowly and sweetly, his tone sarcastic but betrayed by the smile that's progressively growing on his lips.

Barty would have one because his father never gave him his attention. He was never enough for him, never a good son, never a good student, never good. He was constantly ignored, and the few times his father acknowledged him was to tell him that he was a lost cause, a disgrace, a shame. He was just a stupid boy, too reckless, too careless, too unhinged, too much, and, at the same time, never enough. But it wasn’t like that. He was a bit impulsive, and sometimes he went a little bonkers, but he was a good person, and there were people who cared about him and his well being. You always made sure he knew that. He was your priority.

I have a feeling that he would be completely unashamed of being praised in public exactly like he is praised in the bedroom. Probably not in front of the whole school, but he wouldn't really care if people eavesdropped, his crooked grin widening when he notices their horrified faces. It is their fault, they could mind their own damn business.

‘Yes, Barty, you’ve been a good boy’ after he asks you if he has been good after getting an O in Potions.

‘Baby, we’re in public, I can’t just scream about how good you fuck me. There are people eating, for Merlin’s sake’ after he sees a guy talking to you before sitting at the table in the Great Hall. He asks you if you could tell him that he is the only one who could make you come with just his skilled fingers.

‘Don’t think like that ever again, Barty. You are not a lost cause, you aren't. You deserve good things, you deserve the best things, sweetie. You deserve to be loved, and I do. I love you so much Barty, don’t ever think you are not important to me because you are. You mean the world to me’ after he receives a letter from his father asking how a cretin like him was able to find someone who could love him. If he hadn’t begged you to stop after calming down a little you would’ve been in Azkaban with a murder charge by now.

‘Fuck, I love when you do that. Feels amazing, baby’ after he trails a path of kisses down your chest only to focus on the tender flesh of your nipple as he sucks gently, and grazes it with his teeth, teasing you.

‘Harder, baby. I know you like it like this’ while his thrusts become more erratic, stronger and deeper and you can hardly think.

‘You’re cock is perfect, Barty. Fills my mouth so nicely’ while you’re sucking him off, his tip hits your throat and you swallow as the loudest moan leaves his mouth.

‘I told Mulciber that no one can make you scream as loud as I do’

‘You did what ?! Barty !’

‘What ? Is it not true ?’

‘I- of course it’s true, but why did you have to tell him ?’

‘He was being rather cocky about the fact that he could make you scream like, and I quote ‘a bitch’. Then he started using other very disrespectful words to describe you baby, and at that point I had to punch him right in the face, because no one has to even dare to talk about you like that. He is actually lucky my Sectumsempra is not perfect yet, or he would’ve ended way worse. And then I added that little detail. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I was furious. Do you want me to obliviate him ? I can do that if you want’

‘It’s fine, he needs some salt rubbed on his wounds’

‘Are you sure ?’

‘Yes, baby. And it’s nothing new, I'm sure the entire dorm hears me when you’re fucking me, I can't help it. Now come on my knight in bloody knuckles, let’s go to Madame Pomfrey to get those bruises checked’ you kiss him lightly before heading to the infirmary.

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk 🤭

And thank you for reading 💖

2K notes · View notes

aetherraeys · 28 days ago

Text

evil twin !

regulus black x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.2k

(part ii)

cw ⟢ eventual poly!bartylus!!, slytherin!reader, fluff, friends to lovers

summary: the potter twins, a marvelous duo split by the sorting hat. just like your brother you presence was addictive, drawing in the attentions of a particularly brooding black brother.

a/n: THIS IS THE FIRST OF HOPEFULLY MANY PARTS HEHEHE I HOPE YOU ENJOY MWAH!!! not proofread x

Dumbledore was convinced that both Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had carried out a divide and conquer tactic apon your arrival in the castle.

Individually, you and James were a force to be reckoned with—both incredibly charismatic, intelligent and hard-headed, with a knack for mischief. So together, Dumbledore’s head only spun at the thought of the havoc the pair of you would cause.

Luckily, on the fateful day of your arrival, you were placed in Slytherin and your beloved twin brother was placed in Gryffindor—separated for the first time ever. The moment still vivid in your mind, the second the sorting hat was on you, the way you flinched when it hummed, pondering—voice ringing loud in your ears as it announced—Slytherin.

James had frozen at the Gryffindor table, half out of his seat, hand still twitching against the bench where he’d been saving your spot—watching as your lip trembled, walking glossy-eyed to the Slytherin table.

That first night, the castle felt too big, dungeon walls suffocating, too many corridors between you and your brother.

Of course it was hard, for the both of you.

James had always been protective over you—infuriatingly so. Always reinforcing the fact that he needs to take care of his little sister. Like those three minutes made any difference at all.

It had been a slow shift—painful, even. You and James had always been a unit, bound by childhood games, matching jumpers, and the unspoken certainty that wherever one of you went, the other wasn’t far behind. But Hogwarts had changed that. The Sorting Hat had done more than divide you; it had distilled you. Pulled apart the blended pieces of your personalities and exposed them for what they truly were.

It gave you both room to grow.

Individually. Distinctively.

Earning names for yourselves outside of ‘the Potter twins’.

You’d both carved your names into the stone walls of Hogwarts in your own distinct ways—loud and clear, unmistakable.

James Potter was sunlight. A walking, talking explosion of brightness. He lit up corridors with that crooked grin and wind-mussed hair, bounding through the castle like he owned every inch of it. Gryffindor Quidditch captain, chaotic and loud and brilliant in all the ways that made people want to follow him into a duel or disaster.

He was the kind of boy who laughed with his whole chest, who spoke like everything he said mattered, arms slung around friends like they were lifelines. Always in motion. Always burning. A golden retriever in human form, all reckless energy and genuine joy.

And then there was you.

Cool where James was burning. Still water to his wildfire. But no less dangerous.

No less alluring.

They called you the evil twin—never to your face, and never with confidence. Not seriously. Not really. But the name clung to you like smoke. It suited you in the way all the best lies do: close enough to truth to be dangerous.

There was a calm to you, deliberate and composed, but it was the kind of calm that made people lean in too close, not noticing that they were slipping under the surface until it was far too late. You moved with the kind of grace that made people watch without realising they were watching, your smile soft, voice smoother still, and eyes always gleaming with something slightly wild.

They whispered about you long after you left a room.

Head Girl before your quill ever touched the application parchment. A perfect record—at least on paper.

Your charm was quieter than James’, more calculated, more disarming. Beautiful, brilliant, and just a little terrifying. You made people nervous, even when you were smiling. Especially when you were smiling.

There was a glint in your eyes that made hearts skip and stomachs drop, that whispered of games and secrets and consequences. A wicked sort of glimmer, like you knew every thought in their head and were already deciding what to do with it. Like the sea right before a storm.

Yin and yang, Dumbledore had once said, half in jest. Opposing forces in perfect balance.

You enter the Great Hall like a secret unfurling—quiet and unannounced, not so much walking as gliding between tables, untouched by the noise that fills the air.

Steps silent across the stone floor, a slip of motion through the chaos of breakfast—chatter and cutlery and laughter clanging off the walls. You pass the Gryffindor table without so much as a murmur trailing behind you, and still, not one person notices.

Not until your hand touches James’ shoulder.

He jerks so violently he nearly knocks his goblet over, a string of startled swears tumbling from his mouth as his fork clatters against the plate. Pumpkin mash splatters. Someone at the table yelped. Sirius choked on his toast, and Remus actually gasped as if someone’s just hexed him.

Every head turned.

And James was clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him.

“Bloody—! Merlin’s sake, you can’t just—!”

You tilt your head at him, ever so slightly, a small smirk twitching at the corners of your lips—eyes glinting with amusement. “Jamie,” you say in a sing-song lilt, sweet and syrupy, “You wouldn’t happen to still have the History of Magic textbook you borrowed from me, would you?”

A hush falls over the table—just long enough to make you notice.

“Er. About that,” he says, eyes darting like he’s working out whether to lie or apologise. “I might still have it. Might. Can’t say what condition it’s in, though.”

Your smile fades instantly, its replacing expressing shockly serious.

“James,” you say flatly, eyes narrowing. “Did you ruin my book?”

He winces. “Define ruin—”

“James.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” he insists quickly, shoulders raising like you’re about to hex him in the middle of the Great Hall. “There was this—uh—Sirius spilled ink on the table and then Remus knocked it over and there was just a lot going on.”

You stayed silent, blinking at him, unimpressed.

“I’ll get you a new copy,” he says, guilt creeping into his voice. “Later today. You’ll have to stop by the common room, though.”

You sigh like it physically pains you. “Fine. I’ll try to come by around seven.”

He grins, pleased with himself. “Sorry, Poppet*.*”

You roll your eyes, but the edge of your mouth twitches. Straightening, with a roll of your shoulders as you draw your hand away from him, letting it fall to your side. And when you glace up again, the stares hadn’t stopped.

Like they’d forgotten to look away, the silence hung in the air for barely a second, scanning the table momentarily—before offering a small smile—slow, sweet, almost smug.

The kind of smile that ruins people.

“M’kay, see you later, Jamie,” you murmur, then turn and slip back into motion.

Eyes follow you as you go—every turn of your heel, every soft shift of fabric, every second you exist within their line of sight. James barely registers it at first—too busy spearing his toast again, already halfway back into conversation. But then he pauses.

His eyes flick to Sirius. Then to Remus. Then to Marlene.

All three of them are still staring across the hall. Still tracking your path back to your table.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” James groans loudly, glaring. “Stop gawking at my sister.”

Marlene blinks, caught. “She’s terrifying,” she mutters, almost to herself.

“In a really…good way,” Remus adds, dazed.

Sirius only grins.

James lets out a strangled sound and buries his face in his hands.

The portrait swings open without hesitation, at exactly seven o’clock sharp, you’d been there enough times that even the Fat Lady doesn’t bother asking questions anymore.

James is already waiting on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, textbook in hand. You barely slowed as you approached. He tossed it up with a practiced flick of the wrist, and you caught it one-handed.

“New copy,” he says proudly. “Didn’t even steal it. Aren’t you proud?”

You hum in approval, flipping it open to scan the pages. “No ink stains. No food crumbs. No smell of dungbombs.” You close it with a satisfied snap. “Miracles do happen.”

Before he can retort, you’ve already turned toward the couch, where Lily is perched cross-legged with a steaming mug of something floral and her usual tower of parchment. She smiles when she sees you, shifting over to make space without being asked.

Tucking the textbook under your arm as you lower yourself beside her.

James raises a suspicious brow, but you and Lily are already whispering to each other, heads tilted close and expressions conspiratorial. It’s nothing terribly sinister—something to do with Hogsmeade, and getting Slughorn to move a test back a week—but it’s enough to draw curious glances from the far side of the room.

You feel them. The eyes.

But you don’t look. Don’t need to.

Sirius was pretending not to stare. Which is laughable, really, because his entire body was angled toward you, elbow propped on the back of the couch, fingers tangled in his hair in that careless way he probably thinks is charming.

And Remus was worse. He’s trying to read, bless him, book in his lap and everything—but his eyes haven’t moved from you since you sat down. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable, chewing the inside of his cheek. You think you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

You say nothing. Keep your voice low as you murmur something into Lily’s ear that makes her snort softly behind her hand.

After ten minutes of easy conversation, you rise without ceremony, slipping the textbook fully under your arm and smoothing your skirt.

“Well,” you say lightly, brushing a hand over your robes. “This was fun.”

Lily smirks. “We’ll finalise tomorrow?”

“Perfect” You glance to James. “Thanks for the book, Jamie.”

“No problem, Pop.”

You turn, finally acknowledging the two boys across the room with a glint of something wicked in your eye.

“Goodnight, boys,” you said sweetly—voice soft as silk, almost melodic. The slightest edge of a smile curves your lips as you roll your eyes, and then you’re already walking toward the exit, the hem of your robes trailing behind you like smoke.

You don’t look back.

But if you had, you would’ve seen Sirius run a hand through his hair and lean back with a low whistle.

“Merlin,” he mutters. “I’d swear she’s half siren if it weren’t for you, Prongs”

James, who’s still watching the portrait door swing shut, scoffs. “Oh, come off it.”

“What?” Sirius grins, unashamed. “It’s not my fault your sister is—” he gestures vaguely toward the door, “—whatever that is.”

Remus doesn’t say a word. His book is still open in his lap—he’s not reading it.

“I’m just saying,” Sirius continues, “if she weren’t your sister…”

“But she is my sister.” James rebutted, slouching back in his seat—swiftly ending the conversation.

The corridor curved with quiet shadows, lit only by the flicker of distant torches. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone, a soft rhythm in the stillness of the dungeons. It was late, you’d spent more time in the Gryffindor common room than you’d realised—most of the castle already asleep, save for the odd prefect or wandering ghost.

You turned a corner near the potions classroom and nearly walked straight into Regulus Black.

He stopped short, posture already impeccable, as if even in surprise he couldn't be caught off guard. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyes—recognition, hesitation—and then he stepped slightly aside, giving you room without a word.

“Burning the midnight oil, Black?” you asked, voice soft with the sort of casual familiarity that made his name sound like something you owned.

He glanced at you, dark eyes catching in the torchlight. “Prefect rounds. Took longer than expected.”

You fell into step beside him as naturally as breathing, and he adjusted his pace to match yours without needing to be asked.

“What was it this time?” you mused. “More Gryffindors smuggling sweets from the kitchens?”

“Fourth-years,” he said with a small exhale—amusement undercutting his otherwise smooth tone. “Said they were practicing for a future in espionage.”

“Ambitious,” you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Almost enough to make me proud.”

Regulus didn’t respond, but you felt the brief flick of his eyes on your profile, like he was trying not to look too long. Like he was trying not to seem too interested.

You didn’t comment, but you noticed.

By the time you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, barely mumbling the password before the metal hinges whined, door opening slowly. Inside, the green-glass lamps glowed low, casting dreamy reflections against the water-like ceiling. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, golden against the dark velvet furniture.

Dorcas sat half-curled on the rug, absently flipping through a magazine; Evan was draped across a couch like he owned it, cards floating above his face; Pandora leaned near him, humming as she threaded a strand of starlight-colored ribbon through her hair. It was a tableau of sleepy elegance.

Without hesitation, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the center rug near the fire. Your hand stretched toward the flames without thought. A spark rose up, obedient and curious, dancing into your open palm.

Twirling it between your fingers like silk, the heat never burning you, the flame curling comfortably around your touch. Pandora’s fingers stilled in her braid, watching.

Wandless magic.

Dorcas tilted her head, eyes bright. “You really have to teach me how to do that one day.”

You didn’t look away from the fire. “Of course,” you said lightly. “But there’s a bit of a learning curve.”

“Like what kind of curve?” Evan asked, not looking up. “Burn-your-dormitory-down levels?”

“More like third-degree-if-you’re-clumsy,” you replied with a grin.

“I could do it,” a voice said behind you, full of loud confidence.

Barty stepped forward from where he’d been balanced on the arm of the sofa, his hair tousled, shirt rumpled, and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

You turned your head slightly, one brow raised. “Could you now?”

“First try,” he goaded, brows arched in light challenge. “Swear on my father's boring haircut.”

Regulus snorted, not even looking up from his book. “You’ll burn yourself stupid.”

“I’ll be fine,” Barty said, already striding forward. “How hard can it be?”

He reached toward the fire, trying to mimic the smooth gesture you’d used, fingers tense with focus and impatience.

A small spark leapt up—and immediately sputtered, flaring far too quickly. The flame caught his skin with a sharp sizzle before he could react, and he yelped, flinging his hand back with a curse.

“Bloody hell!”

The room erupted with laughter.

Pandora’s hand clamped over her mouth as if to shove the laugh back in, both Evan and Dorcas threw their heads back in sync, barking out a laugh—sound mixing with yours, loud and delighted, as Barty glared at the fire like it had personally betrayed him.

“Under control, was it?” you teased.

He cradled his palm like it was a war wound. “Minor setback. I didn’t even flinch.”

“You flinched so hard you almost somersaulted.”

“Semantics,” Barty grumbled.

“Let me see,” you said, standing and stepping closer.

He hesitated only a beat before holding out his hand, palm-up. A faint red welt bloomed across his skin, angry and hot. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and you felt the brief hitch in his breath. You didn’t comment.

A whisper of magic curled from your palm, cool and quiet, threading over the burn like mist. The redness faded almost instantly, leaving only smooth skin and the faintest echo of heat.

Barty stared down at your work like it was a trick he couldn’t quite understand.

From the couch, Evan leaned forward, smirking. “You just wanted an excuse to hold her hand.”

“Shove off,” Barty muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, though not too quickly.

You shook your head, half-exasperated half-amused, and turned toward the hall. “I’m going to wash up.”

As you stepped away from the firelight, you caught movement in the corner of your eye. Regulus was still in his usual spot—half reclined in the reading chair by the window, a book open but forgotten on his lap.

His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

You held it for just a moment, a soft smirk just barely twitching at the corners of your lips, before disappearing down the hall.

Unsurpisingly, both you and Regulus had more in common than you’d care to admit.

Both the less outlandish sibling, the ‘quieter’ ones—not necessarily in sound, but in presence. While James and Sirius blazed like bonfires, reckless and radiant, you and Regulus were something else entirely.

Subtle, magnetic.

You didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d both entered a room and the air seemed to still slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do.

Both of you understood what it meant to watch. To study a room before deciding what piece you wanted to play in it. You weren’t loud, nor silent just quietly unnerving. Regal, even.

There was a stillness about Regulus, an almost surgical precision to his movements and his clipped tone, like everything he did was measured twice before execution. He was painfully composed, almost uptight, his dry wit tucked behind an unimpressed brow and unimpeachable posture.

And where you differed—you were made of wild starlight and strange tides, chaos in your blood even if it rarely cracked your veneer, eventhough you rarely indulged. And where Regulus pulled inward, you leaned out. You loved a little disorder, havoc—a challenge; your eyes shining when something didn’t go to plan, smirking like you were always in on a secret.

There was a certain wickedness in your stillness—one that made Regulus look twice. Then three times. Then constantly.

Each thing he learned about you surprised him more than the last.

So he decided, quietly and with a calm sort of resolve, that he’d had enough of watching you from afar. He wanted a closer look.

The first time was in the library.

You were tucked into the corner of a row, arms full of books, hair falling across your face as you read the spine of a heavy tome. You didn’t notice him at first—or maybe that’s just what he told himself, though he should’ve known better. Regulus moved with the silence of a shadow, but when he was only inches away and just about to speak, your voice floated out, lightly entertained:

“Planning to sneak up on me, Black?”

He blinked, lips parting in the barest hint of surprise. “I wasn’t—”

Without sparing him a glance you handed him the book at the top, and he took it instinctively—letting his fingers linger on yours just that bit longer than necessary. And you held in a quirk of your brows, the squint of your eyes—making a mental note.

Because Regulus was nothing if not purposeful.

He didn’t say anything else at first, only helped, taking the weight from you and beginning to shelve them wordlessly. There was a moment—just before he reached for the last one—where his fingers paused. The cover was worn, clearly read many times.

Icarus.

A Muggle myth. One of his favourites, though no one knew that.

His hand hovered just a little too long, thumb brushing over the faded title.

“What did you think of the ending?” you asked suddenly, your tone soft but cutting through the quiet like a quill to parchment.

He almost stammered, nearly asking how did you know? But caught himself, clearing his throat before replying. “Tragic. I liked it.”

You tilted your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip—scanning his face—something glinting behind your eyes that he couldn’t quiet put his finger on.

The way the corners of your lips threatening to curve into a smile, had him struggling to swallow, voice honeyed in his ears—“Of course you did.”

And you were gone, just like that, leaving him standing—ears hot, brain playing your voice, your smile on loop.

Regulus prided himself in his ability to read a person, and yet with you—every interaction left him more confused, more intrigued, more captivated. There was some sort of riddle about you, something flickering in the depths of your eyes that made him want to unravel it—you.

The next time he saw you, you’d agreed to meet after his Quidditch practice to finish a joint assignment for Potions. Waiting just outside the changing rooms, arms crossed loosely over your chest, leaning against the cool stone wall with your bag slung over one shoulder.

The first person out wasn’t Regulus, but Barty—lips splitting into a wide smirk like he’d been expecting to see you there.

“Well, well,” he drawled, striding over with no shame, his hair a windswept mess and his jersey clinging to his frame. Immediately he closed in on you, arm slinging lazily over your shoulders, a light scent of cigarettes and oak filling your nose.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, pretty?”

Groaning, your nose crinkling at the contact, you didn’t push him off though—”You’re sweaty, Junior,”

He only leaned in closer, grin laced with mischief, letting his breath fan over your jaw. “You love it.”

“I love showers, actually. You should try one.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes flickered across you face, the corners of your lips fighting to stay down—eyes glimmering with that twinge of defiance that had him only smirk even wider—“Only if you come with.”

Your brow cocked up slightly, narrowing your eyes as your plucked his arm off of you, placing gently back by his side—palms still wrapped around his wrist. He watched your movement eagerly, the smirk that was already etched onto his lips, adopting a positively wolfish quality when you leaned up into him—lips almost brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes, Junior,”

Pulling away just as quickly as you came in, leaning back against the wall leisurely, rolling your eyes at the way Barty scanned your figure—adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Then the door opened again, still not Regulus.

“Evan,” you called sweetly, “come collect your lost dog before he starts shedding on me.”

“C’mon, Crouch” Evan replied with a snort, catching him by the collar and dragging him off. “Leave her alone before you melt her into the floor.”

Barty turned just before they were out of sight, voice loud despite the distance—playful, “Miss you already, Treasure!”

For a few more minutes you waited, the corridor quiet now except for the flickering of enchanted sconces and the distant echo of voices. When Regulus finally emerged, his tie half-undone and hair damp around the edges, cheeks still reddened from the bite of the air—adjusting his uniform.

“Did you wait long?”

He’d already began the walk out, following after him, you hummed a small no—slipping through the hallways in the East Wing to find an empty classroom. It wasn’t hard task at all, settling in with the low scrap of the stool against the stone floor and opening your textbooks.

As he flicked through the pages of the book, your gaze dropped instinctively to his hands—his knuckles bruised and bloodied, red blooming like petals across pale skin.

Without hesitation, you scooted forward in your seat and took his hand in yours.

“We could’ve stopped by Pomfrey,” you said, brows knitting slightly as you examined the scrapes.

He didn’t pull away. Just kept his gaze fixed on your hand, the way you held his delicately, and your fingers, the way they moved so gently across his skin.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll heal.”

A frown had etched itself onto your lips as you continued to inspect his hand, if you weren’t so engrossed in your assessment, you would have noticed the faint flush of his ears, or how his eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hand.

Your motions were slow and attentive, pressing your palm along the bumps of his knuckles—the heat of your skin ghosting over his—the simmer of magic was so soft he almost didn’t notice it.

There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes as the wounds healed, but he didn’t flinch away.

And as your palm crossed over the edge of his hand, the final gash closed before his eyes, the skin was almost perfectly anew, as if nothing had happened—the only indication being a fading pink hue.

You continued to trace over the now-faint marks, fingertips ghosting along the healed bone, the tenderness of your touch leaving him slightly breathless.

“Better,” you whispered, half to yourself.

Regulus just stared at his hand when you let go, still feeling the echo of your touch, the whisps of your warmth. “Thank you,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual, lips still parted—stretching and rolling his fingers, watching the bones move comfortably under the skin, free of the light burning sensation.

When he looked up, you were already watching him—head tilted, expression cool—neutral.

Sighing out a breath his lips were moving before he could stop them, “I—how?”

A quiet hum escaped your lips, hands crossing over your lap as you leaned into the wood of your chair, “Well, James and I were really clumsy—more James than me, obviously,”

Recollecting, your lips curled into a smile, shrugging slightly as you continued, “Our mum got tired of us walking around bruised and battered when she was busy, so she taught me how to heal without a wand,”

The ghost of a smile almost twitched at the corners of his lips. Almost.

A short silence veiled the room as you fell into a working rhythm, mindlessly highlighting and note taking before the clattering of Regulus’ quill against the table broke your concentration. Eyes immediately shifting up to him—his lips pursed into a tightline but the words were already out. Blurted abruptly, cracking the silence just as his quill did.

“Teach me,”

Your brows raised into a suprised arch, confusion flickering across your face for brief moment, lips parting to respond. When he shrunk into himself slightly, shocked by his own outburst, muttering a small, “…please?” under his breath.

The response fell heavy on your tongue, lips stretching into an amused smirk and huffed chuckle bubbled low in your chest.

The wood of the chair scrapped and screeched loud against the stone as you stood, wordlessly making your way around the table. His eyes tracked your movements, just barely becoming frantic in their flickering when you sat beside him—knees brushing, so close.

Regulus breath caught when your gazes met, heat prickling at the base of his neck, hands curling into half-fists on the table, and you kept your eyes on him. Even as you leaned over closing his books, making space on the desk—warmth of your body vaguely gracing him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away, tear his gaze from yours—as much as it made his stomach flip from its quiet intensity—the confidence that swam in your eyes. It sucked him in, making his adam’s apple bob in his throat.

All-consuming.

At the sound of a single galleon, lazily spinning on the table, you broke your stare—letting your sights fall onto the coin as it clattered to a halt. “Have you done wandless magic before?”

He sucked in a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill completely—using that time to regulate his heart that threatened to beat out of his chest—before pushing all the air back out, forcibly rubbing his palms into the fabric of his robes.

“Once—accidentally,”

With a nod, you hummed at his words, waiting for him to continue, eyes back on him—boring into the side of his head. “I—uh, got the lights to turn on when i couldn’t find my wand,”

His eyes shift between you and the coin as you picked it up, rolling it between your fingers as your spoke, “Okay, lets start with something simple, shall we?” The way you watched him made his mouth painfully dry, he couldn’t even trust his voice to answer, silently nodding at you words.

“Try move the coin.”

When he whipped his head towards to, lips parted in slight disbelief, protests creeping up his throat—Regulus clamped his mouth shut at the smile on your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners swimming with mischief as you leaned in. Placing the coin back onto the table with a soft clink, instinctively he held his breath, short-circuiting at the sudden proximity—so close he could smell you, a light vanilla scent with a twinge of maple and freshly burnt fire-wood.

You made him so nervous, he found himself a bit pathetic.

And the honeyed cadance of your voice did nothing but make his heart race faster than it already was, “Just breathe, Regulus. Focus on the coin and where you want it to move—relax,”

Easier said than done.

Gods, even the way you said his name—he almost lost the rest of your sentence, letting it echo in his mind over and over again.

When you reclined, leaning back into your chair, he felt the urge to mourn the loss of warmth—rolling his shoulders back, focusing his gaze. Or at least, he tried to.

The coin sat quietly on the table, unmoved, unbothered by the sheer force of his will alone. His jaw tensed, brows pinched together, fingers twitching slightly as if the movement alone might spark the magic into life.

Nothing.

With a breath that was equal parts frustration and surrender, Regulus leaned back and exhaled sharply.

“Can you—” he muttered, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, —can you not watch me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Then a quiet chuckle slipped from your lips as you raised your hands in surrender, the teasing edge of your smile tugging at the corners. “Alright, alright,” you murmured, “Sorry.” Voice light and easy, but your eyes still sparkled with that same mischief that made his stomach clench. “Didn’t realise I was that distracting.”

“You are,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear.

Still, you didn’t comment on it. Instead, leaning in again—slowly, gently—and placed your hand on his shoulder, the heat of you palm instantly radiating through his robes, hairs raising down his spine. His eyes flicked to the contact, then to your face again. You were closer than before.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you murmured, your thumb brushing once over the fabric of his robes. “And you’re not breathing.”

“I am breathing,” he argued weakly.

“Barely.”

You didn’t move your hand as you spoke again, your voice quieter now, velvet-soft and steady. “Close your eyes. Envision it. Just you and the coin. No pressure.” Regulus hesitated for a beat, then followed your instruction, lids fluttering shut.

A few moments pass before your voice reaches his ears again, “Can you see it?” and he nodded slowly, jaw tightening in focus.

“Alright,” you continued, tone low almost hypnotic now, “imagine it moving. Just a bit. Like there’s an invisible string tugging it toward you.”

He sucked in another deep breath, picturing it. The cool glint of the galleon. The subtle shine under the tinted light of the classroom. The gentle tug, like a current.

And then—scrape.

The softest sound of metal shifting against wood reached both your ears. His eyes shot open. It had moved—just barely a few centimeters, but undeniably there. His breath caught, disbelief flashing across his face.

When he turned to you, a bright beam had already split across your face, the sort of proud, delighted smile that hit him harder than the adrenaline from the magic—your hand finally slipped from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake—fingers grazing the fabric of his robes. “You did it!” you said, eyes bright. “See? Easy.”

He let out a stunned breath, caught between awe and the bloom of success, heartbeat still rapid beneath his ribs. The warmth of accomplishment mingling with the quiet thrum of your presence, you. He was still processing when you reset the coin with a smooth sweep of your hand.

“Again,” you urged, nudging it into place. “Try further this time.”

He nodded, more focused now—confident. When he closed his eyes again, he could still hear the echo of your voice in his head. Could still imagine your hand on his shoulder, steading—warm.

And this time, it slid farther—too far.

The coin zipped forward, clattered off the edge, and hit the floor with a metallic clink that echoed around the empty classroom. You let out a short burst of laughter, delighted, as his head dropped, a sheepish huff escaping him. But the tension had melted from his shoulders, replaced with slow blossoming of something lighter. Pride.

He bent down to retrieve it, fingers brushing the cool metal before placing it back on the table. You were already settling beside him again, the warmth of your presence sparking something just under his skin. “This is the next step,” you said, tapping the surface of the table.

Regulus was still watching you.

Then you extended your hand, with a single finger, you hovered just above the coin—twirling it in a slow, controlled motion—and like it had a will of its own, the coin lifted.

Spinning, following the gentle twirl of your finger. A slow spiral, then faster, gathering speed until it hovered in the air, dancing in place.

He was entranced, gaze stuck on the coin even as it settled down, coming to a graceful halt—landing perfectly in the center of the table. He’d known magic, of course he did—but it felt different, raw and effortless. The same way the flame had danced between your fingers in the common room the other night—mindlessly intuitive, captivating. The coin spun like it wanted to please you. Everything did, it seemed.

He was still staring at the coin, hesitating—doubt creeping in through the back of his mind, like an unwanted invasive parasite—it barely flickered across his face. An almost imperceivable break in his expression, but you saw it.

Taking the coin again, you reached for his hand—laying your palm flat under his, eyes flickering to his face for permission before continuing. When he didn’t pull away, you placed the coin in the center of his hand, the warmth of your skin on his made the sharp bite of the metal feel that bit colder against his hand.

It lifted and spun confidently against his skin, puppeteered by the twist of your finger.

“Feel that?” Voice just above a whisper.

And he could feel it, a steady thrumming faintly circling in his palm, the buzzing with your magic. Swallowing before he spoke, a small “Yeah,” passing into the air between you.

“Now,” you spoke quietly, catching his other hand and bringing it to hover above the coin. “Picture that same feeling at your fingertips. Like it’s moving from your hand into the air—let it flow through you.”

He concentrated. You stayed close. Hand still gently cradling his from below, a silent encouragement, he started mimicking the slow twirling motion in the space above the coin.

For a few long moment—nothing.

Then, it happened. The coin jerked, slightly. Then again, shakily dragging to a stand. A tremble, stuttering before a spin. Jerky at first, but then it righted itself—smoothly gaining speed, falling into step with the command of his finger.

And your laughter, it rung through the room—soft, radiant—spilling from your chest with that same pride from before. He was too stunned to say anything. Blinking down at the coin with wide eyes, then looking to you, breathless, like he wasn’t quite sure it had actually happened. A smile—an actual, full smile—slowly curved onto his lips.

Rare and quiet, it lingered like a secret only the two of you shared.

The low buzz still resonating in his palm, the echo of your magic mingled with his own. The feeling of your hands—warm, steady, coaxing power out of him with nothing more than your voice and a bit of stubborn charm.

And even as the coin fell suddenly into his hand, all he could do was look at you.

Relish in the way your eyes shone with a glimmer of excitement, how your hands curved around his, jogging them slightly in enthusiastic joy of his accomplishment.

The coin was stagnant in his palm, Regulus flipped your hands, surrendering the cold metal into yours—and yet his hands lingering in your hold. He knew he probably should have moved his hands, the second he resigned the coin back into your possession; that was his cue. But he felt stuck, frozen under your sights.

Bewitched.

Even as your lips moved before him, the words almost fell deaf on his ears—taking a few seconds to let them echo in his mind, how did it feel? He responded with a sighing breath, as if relinquishing all remaining tension in his body, “…Good,” nodding his head as his continued, “really good actually,”

His small confession has your lips stretching even further along your face, and acknowledging hum rumbling in your throat as your touch slowly slipped away from his. Quietly tucking the coin into your bag before you started to pack up.

Just when you closed your notebook Regulus’ voice glided across the air, just above a faint murmur—if the room had any other sounds than the quiet rustling of papers, you wouldn’t have heard it.

“You’re a really good teacher,”

A small huff of laugh passed through your nose, tucking your notebook under your arm as you stood and offered a small, warm smile. “It’s easy,” you said lightly, “when you have a good student.”

Regulus shook his head faintly, a huff of something like disbelief leaving his lips—but the curve of pride hadn’t quite left his mouth.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence through the halls, your steps in sync. His hands tucked in his pockets, your bag slung over your shoulder. The dungeons were dim, washed in the dull blue of lantern light, shadows stretching along the stone. He kept glancing sideways at you, like there was something still lingering on his tongue he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to say.

Just as you reached the bottom of the girls’ dorm staircase, your hand curling loosely around the bannister, Regulus spoke.

“Wait—” His voice was low, tentative. Pausing, you turned slightly. “Hm?”

He stood a few steps back, one hand curled around the strap of his satchel, the other still shoved in his pocket. “Would you…” he paused, gaze dipping before finding yours again, more certain now. “Will you show me more?”

There was a beat of silence.

You tilted your head, watching him closely, fingers curled loosely around the railing. Blinking once, twice, reading the sincerity in his face, the open want—not desperation, harmless interest. He could see the cogs turning in your head just for a moment, before you murmured with a shrug, “Yeah.”

Descending the stairs again, you fell into step beside him as he led the way up the other staircase. The boys’ dorm was quiet when you reached it, the door creaking softly open under his hand. The warm scent of parchment, cologne, and something distinctly him met you in the space.

You paused at the threshold.

It wasn’t unfamiliar—you’d lounged across Barty’s bed enough times, lazily flipping through books while he tore the room apart looking for a missing assignment. You’d perched at Evan’s desk, rifled through his scribbled notes, borrowed a quill Barty’s nightstand. But never while Regulus was there. You’d never stepped into his space, not when he was in it.

He didn’t seem to notice your stillness. He moved through the room with ease, like you weren’t watching—dropping his books in a stack by the desk, slipping his robe off one shoulder, then tugging his jumper over his head. His shirt was rumpled beneath, sleeves already rolled up, collar slightly askew. You caught yourself staring.

He looked over his shoulder.

“You coming in?” he asked, voice a little lower now, pitched in that way it sometimes got when it was just you.

Without a word, you stepped in, toeing the door shut behind you and dropping your bag just beside the frame. You mimicked his motions easily, slipping off your jumper and draping it over the back of a nearby chair, fingers brushing absently along the edge of his desk as you walked further in.

It was a clean room. Structured, but not stiff. His bed was neat, the desk organised, quills and books perfectly aligned. But there were touches—human ones. A framed photo of the Quidditch pitch mid-game, a green ribbon pinned to the wall—a burnished Slytherin scarf neatly folded at the end of his bed, and a single piece of parchment stuck to the wall above his workspace.

With a soft exhale, you flopped onto his bed, letting your arms stretch out as you gazed up at the canopy. The hangings were dark, almost velvet black, and they made the whole space feel smaller, quieter. Private.

Regulus glanced over, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He returned to his desk, potion book in hand, eyebrows arched in mild disbelief.

“You make yourself comfortable wherever you go, don’t you?” he said dryly, a smirk threatening at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t reply—just smirked smugly, twisting your head into the sheets below, stretching your limbs out, still gazing up at the dark, heavy curtains draped above the bed. The movement made your shirt shift, riding up slightly—just a touch above your waistband, exposing a sliver of skin, soft and warm under the low lamplight—the stretch of your abdomen and the small indent of your navel.

He was staring.

He didn’t realise how long until you sat up, balancing your weight on one arm, eyes still wandering lazily over the ceiling.

“You’d think your parents taught you it’s rude to stare,” you said lightly. “But you and your brother are just the same.”

Regulus cleared his throat, heat blooming high on his cheekbones, but he said nothing.

Your attention drifted to the stack of books on his desk—and the singular piece of parchment, handwritten in a precise script, pinned above it.

“What’s that?” you asked, nodding toward it.

He followed your gaze. “A line from a poem.”

You hummed, intrigued. “What’s it say?”

He crossed the room, settling a book on his night stand before he sat on the bed beside you.

You didn’t meet his gaze right away—still reclined, your hair spilling over the edge of the bed like ink, one hand absentmindedly twirling the galleon between your fingers.

Stretching out onto his stomach, bringing his chin on his forearm to look at you properly. He watched you for a moment. The way the gold shimmered in your grip, the way your mouth twitched with unspoken thought. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t mention it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—gentle and low as he recited the line, something breathy and melodic in French. His accent was quiet but careful.

The coin fell still in your lap as you turned your head toward him.

“It sounds pretty,” you murmured. Your eyes traced his face, steady and curious. “What does it mean?” His gaze didn’t leave yours, sucking in a breath through his nose, the mattress beside you dipped as he promped himself up onto his elbows, words slow and hypnotising in your ears.

“Let night come on bells end the day, the days go by me still I stay”

You blinked at him, for a long moment, just letting the words rest heavy in the air between you, and his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when you spoke, voice barely above a whisper, more breath than words—as if anything louder would crack the air as it stilled around you.

“It sounds extra pretty in your voice.”

Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. You were too close. Not close enough. The lamp behind you casted golden shadows across your face and your lips were slightly parted, just barely.

Before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out.

“I think you’re pretty.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him—blinks slowly as you took in each feature.

And then he was leaning in. Slowly, but not hesitantly—fingertips skimming along your jaw, guiding your face toward his with reverence more than boldness. He tilted your face toward him like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The ghost of a smile tugged at your lips, and as he got closer, you hummed, tone somewhere between amusement and a quiet gentleness, “Such high praise,” Gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips one last time before his mouth was on yours.

Regulus’ lips brushed yours with a delicate sort of caution, like he was afraid to startle the moment. His hand stayed warm at your jaw, thumb ghosting along the edge of your cheekbone, grounding himself in the quiet thrill of the contact.

When you kissed him back, slowly, deliberately, and it was like you lit a fuse under his skin. He moved closer, shoulders angling toward you, the hand on your jaw trailing down—fingers curling gently around your neck, not possessive, but fervored.

There was nothing rushed about it. Only the press of mouths and the occasional, breathless hitch of air as your noses brushed and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss slightly—still cautious, still a little hesitant.

But then then he heard it—just barely there, a small breath of contentment through your nose as your fingers slid up the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric.

That did it.

His lips moved with more intent now, more certainty, like he’d been holding back and couldn’t anymore. He tasted like peppermint and something you couldn’t quite place, and every time he pulled away even a fraction, he came right back—drawn to you like the pull of gravity.

Somewhere in the flurry of warmth and movement, the air around you shifted.

The curtains.

The ones above his bed rustled faintly, and then, slowly, they began to close—not all the way, but just enough to wrap the two of you in the hush of privacy. The dark velvet swept inward in a lazy draw, like someone had tugged gently at invisible strings. The air around you seemed to slow, thick with suspended magic and the soft scent of something like cedar and parchment.

Pulling back from the kiss, just barely, your lips brushing his as a breath of laughter escaped you. The kind of soft, genuine giggle that bloomed right in your chest and spilled out in surprise. Your forehead dropped back lightly against the pillow as you whispered, voice honeyed with delight, “Did you just—?”

He didn’t say anything at first. But there was the faintest flush at the tips of his ears, even as the corners of his lips twitched in a sheepish smile. You cupped his jaw gently, brushing your thumb along the edge of his cheek as you teased with a squint of your eye, voice low and fond, “Already showing off.”

He just huffed a laugh, dipping his head slightly—forehead pressing to yours, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His hand found your waist again, sliding over your hip to pull you closer, until your bodies were all but tangled together in the middle of his bed.

Then he paused.

Looked at you.

Really looked at you—eyes searching your face, the softness of your features in the low dorm light, the flush on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips, still flushed lightly from his kiss. His thumb brushed your waist absently, reverently, like he was trying to memorise the moment through touch alone.

You blinked up at him, slightly breathless, lips curving into that small smile—that quiet, knowing one—that had his pulse quickening.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Voice just above a whisper.

A beat.

His answer was just as quiet.

“…Too long.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to.

Because then his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time—hungry but still careful, still delicate. Like he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth with his own. His hand slid to the small of your back, curling to bring you even closer, your chest brushing his with every inhale.

Dinner came and went. Neither of you moved.

Body sprawled across the bed, head in Regulus’ lap, legs stretched out and one arm flopped over your middle lazily. His hand drifted idly through your hair, almost absentminded in its rhythm, as he spoke—quiet and thoughtful, voice lilting into stories you never expected him to share.

He told you about how he hated summer, because his skin burned too easily—how the Black family manor always smelled like dust and old magic. How he and Barty used to sneak wine from the cellar and sit on the roof, trying to name constellations. How his favourite book growing up wasn’t even magical—it was a Muggle text he smuggled in and read by candlelight.

You blinked up at him with a soft smile, utterly content, not interrupting—just listening.

For a man you’d once believed was of few words, he sure had a lot to say.

Not that you weren’t complaining.

There was something soft about him now—looser. Less controlled. Like the tightly wound strings he kept knotted around himself had started to loosen just enough to let you in, like he’d been waiting for the the chance to bare himself. And Merlin, he was affectionate. Not in the loud, boisterous way others might’ve been. But with soft hands and stolen glances. A touch at your hip, the gentle brush of knuckles down your arm. Aching for contact in any form, so careful about how he was gave and received it, like it could be torn away at any given moement—still so foreign, even in his own mind.

Your thumb traced slow circles into his knee as you murmured, “Can you read the line again? From the poem?”

Regulus looked down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He nodded, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead before turning toward the parchment pinned above his desk. He recited it again in that soft voice—low and smooth, almost like a lullaby.

You closed your eyes, humming in contentment.

When he finished, you whispered, “Lemme show you something.”

And before he could ask, your hand curled into a fist. You held it up between you both. His brows furrowed slightly, watching with interest.

Then, you slowly unfurled your fingers—and from the centre of your palm, a small bluebell flower sprouted, delicate and glowing faintly with the magic that coaxed it into being.

“This,” you whispered, eyes flickering with warmth and voice like a secret, “is what I think of when I hear your voice.”

For a long moment, Regulus didn’t speak.

Just stared.

The shock in his eyes wasn’t loud. It was quiet and still, like everything else about him. But it was there. Etched into the way he looked at you—not just at the flower, but at your face. Your expression, the tenderness written across it with no ulterior motive, no mischief behind your eyes. No teasing lilt in your tone.

Just you.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

His fingers reached out gently, brushing the fragile petals like they might dissolve under his touch. And when he looked back at you, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You really are something,” he said, with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Covering the sudden flutter of your chest with a scoff and biteless roll of your eyes. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything more, before you sat up abruptly, hair whipping slightly at your speed—movements fluid and unbothered as the mattress dipped under the concentrated weight of your knees.

Regulus frozen against the headboard, wide-eyed when your leg swung over his middle—settling on his lap in a straddle that was far too flippant. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, unsure where to settle—eventually, they found your hips, fingers curling there hesitantly.

The small smirk on lips only widened—at his obvious flush, relishing in the way the blush crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks.

“Relax,” you teased, brushing your fingers through his dark curls, tucking and retucking the strands behind his ear like you were sculpting something. And then, you nestled the bluebell flower in the space you’d created—right behind his ear.

“There,” you said with a proud grin, leaning back slightly to admire your work. Your hands slid down his neck, wrists resting lazily on his shoulders as you laced your fingers behind him, just barely hovering over his surely goosebump ridden skin. Tilting you head, you let your gaze rake over him like you were evaluating an art piece.

“I think blue might be your colour, Reg.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you subtly shifted in his lap—closer, pressing into him with purpose. Regulus huffed a small scoff, finally finding a bit of his footing again, though his voice was still slightly strained. “Must you always be this brazen?”

You shrugged innocently. “It’s fun having people on edge.”

He hummed lowly, eyes flickering with something darker now—his grip tightening slightly on your hips. “Really?”

You leaned forward with a smirk, lips brushing his as you replied in a hushed, mocking whisper, “Reaaaally.”

That was all the prompting he needed.

His mouth met yours with vigor, kissing you like he couldn’t help it. Like he’d been waiting to. Desperate, yet controlled. His hands squeezing at the flesh of your waist as he pulled you closer, chest pressing flush to his, heat blooming between you, smiling into the kiss.

Pulled back slightly, lips still grazing his, and whispered against his mouth, “You must like brazen then.”

And that made him grin.

Actually grin. Wide and rare and perfect.

His hands gripped your waist more firmly as he kissed you again, feverish now, all slow control forgotten in favour of something more frantic and yearning. The kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs and made time slip sideways.

So engrossed in each other, you didn’t hear the door creak open.

Didn’t notice the soft shuffle of footsteps.

But the moment the familiar sound of Barty’s voice filled the room, everything stopped.

“I brought teacakes,” he called out lazily from the other side of the dorm, “because you missed supper. I figured you were sulking or something—”

You and Regulus froze mid-kiss.

Legs still straddled across his lap. His hands halfway up your back. The flower still behind his ear.

Regulus’ eyes flew open. Your hand slapped over your mouth to muffle a curse.

“I left extra lemon ones, since—wait.”

Barty’s voice was closer now. Suspicious—”…Why are your curtains closed?”

Regulus was already looking at you, panicked. You swatted his arm sharply when he didn’t say anything, eyes wide and insistent. “Was Potter here?” Barty asked, a little louder this time.

“She—uh—” Regulus stammered. “She was here. Earlier.”

Stammered.

You physically winced.

He never stammered. And now Barty definitely knew something was off. There was the unmistakable sound of someone standing up. Then footsteps. Getting closer.

Barty’s voice was cool and skeptical. “So…she was here earlier…”

He paused just outside the curtain.

“…and just left her bag behind?”

Your eyes widened in horror. Your bag. You could envision where you’d left it—sitting in plain view.

A pained expression split across your face as Regulus turned to you with a look that screamed, what do we do??

But there was no time.

Because the curtain was already being drawn back.

Regulus didn't move. Neither did you.

Time seemed to stall between one breath and the next, and there was Barty—standing there with a half-eaten lemon teacake in one hand, his brows slowly climbing higher and higher as he took in the sight before him.

You, still straddling Regulus.

Regulus, pink-faced and looking about two seconds from imploding.

And the flower, still tucked delicately behind his ear.

A beat of silence.

He gasped—actually, audibly gasped, clutching his chest as if you'd physically wounded him. “Treasure,” he breathed, eyes wide and betrayed, “I cannot believe you traded me in for Black.”

You groaned. “Junior.”

“No—don’t you Junior me,” he said, stepping back like your words had scorched him, pressing a hand against the curtains pillar for support.

You slid off Regulus’ lap in a single, painful motion, trying to maintain any shred of dignity, which was difficult with your hair mussed and your shirt slightly rumpled from where Regulus had been clutching at the back of it.

Regulus didn’t even try to salvage anything. He just stared at the ceiling like he was mentally calculating how fast he could die and be buried—red down to the collar of his shirt.

“I thought we had something, Treasure,” Barty continued with a theatrical sniff, flopping onto his bed. “A shared love of mild chaos, midnight escapades, and morally ambiguous hexes.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He stared at the ceiling, hand still on his chest. “I’m heartbroken.”

“You’re eating a teacake.”

“I’m grieving, let me be.”

And then, his voice softened a little, still dramatic but now with an edge of sincerity. “I mean… obviously everyone’s had a crush on you, but I didn’t think he’d be the one to do something about it.”

You blinked, head whipping to Regulus, eyes narrowing. “You’re not denying it.”

He just shrugged lightly, like he didn’t see the point.

Barty’s laughter was smug as hell. “See?” he said, sitting up.

Regulus groaned softly beside you. “Is this going to end soon?”

Barty glanced between you both, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So tell me,” he said, casually now, propping himself up on one elbow, “is this a new study method? Because I must’ve missed this chapter in Advanced Charms.”

“Jun—”

“No, no—really, I’m curious,” he said, waving his teacake for emphasis. “Do you rate each other’s technique? Is snogging now a core requirement for N.E.W.T. preparation?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. It didn’t help that Regulus looked like he was actively contemplating vanishing spells, dropping his head into his hands.

Then he softened again, leaning his chin into his palm as he watched the two of you. “For what it’s worth, Reg… you look good like this. Like an actual person instead of a walking anxiety spell.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, hands slipping from his face to reveal a withering look.

Barty beamed. “That’s more like it.”

With a smug little wave, Barty finally stood, sauntering backwards toward the door with his usual flair.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which, to be fair, is a very short list. Night, lovebirds.”

#aetherraeysworks #hp marauders #marauders era #harry potter #marauders fic #fluff #regulus fanfiction #regulus black #regulus x reader #barty crouch jr #marauders fanfic #barty crouch x reader #sirius x reader #regulus black x reader #the black brothers #regulus x y/n #hp fanfic

1K notes · View notes

novvabee · 5 months ago

Note

Just imagine poly!marauders x reader who decides to go on a holiday trip together but when they arrive there is the classic one-bed-trope (or maybe two and they argue on who gets to share the bed with reader) and she’s all shy bc even though they live together she never spent a night with them in the same room, specially on the same bed!

(Btw, are you planning on getting them together?)

hehehe soooo... I am planning on it, but for right now I live for the pining and the wholesome moments without them being together. anyways here is part 9.

And They Were Roommates pt.9

Summary:reader and the boys go on a trip, one bed trope, it's cute

word count: 1.9k

You and the boys decided to go on a little weekend getaway. You all decided to go to some classic touristy spots like the zoo and aquarium, which the boys definitely loved, and a history museum, which for some reason really fascinated James and Sirius, they stopped at nearly every attraction and stared in awe, especially when it came to the dinosaur fossils.

You chalked it up to them being typical boys and found it almost comical, they acted like they had never seen some of the stuff.

After a long day filled with fun, you were in need of a rest. Luckily, you and the boys had rented rooms at a hotel nearby, knowing that it would be too far a journey to go back home at the end of the day.

After a quick bite to eat at a cute little cafe, you and the boys made your way to the hotel. It was a short journey, just up the road from where you had been spending the whole day.

“I just don’t understand,” Sirius said while walking to the hotel, “Those paintings, they were pretty, but why were they in a museum? They didn’t even move.”

You laughed and continued walking. “Of course they don’t move Siri, they’re paintings.” you replied.

Sirius opened his mouth, looking like he was going to question you, but Remus nudged him and shook his head at Sirius, halting him from asking any more silly questions.

You reached the lobby of the regal hotel you were to stay at. Remus told the three of you to wait, that he would check in and grab the keys. You hung back with Sirius and James and talked about all the fun animals you saw. James was recalling a particular shark that he liked when Remus returned to the group.

“Uh, small problem,” He started, making the three of you turn your attention to him, “There's been a mix up with the rooms.”

You furrowed your brows, what kind of mix up could there possibly be? You thought you booked everything correctly. “What do you mean ‘mix up’?” you asked.

Remus sighed. “Well uh, instead of two rooms with two beds each, there’s two rooms with one bed.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s not a problem, we can share, right?” you looked at the other boys. They nodded in agreement.

“Ok, how do we want to split the rooms then?” Remus asked.

“I’ll go with Y/N.” James said in a rush.

Sirius looked at him and scoffed. “That is like calling dibs on someone, you can't-”

“I didn't call dibs on her, I just said-”James interrupted. They began talking over each other.

“-Look, personally, I think it’s just unfair if-”

“-shut up Sirius”

“James kicks in his sleep.” Sirius turned to comment to you.

“Do not!” James defended himself

“Yes you do! Tell that to all the bruises I have acquired over the years!” Sirius shot back at him.

“Maybe I kick because you toss and turn constantly-” James was interrupted again, this time by Remus.

“Boys,” he said calmly, having had to break up these types of arguments many times, “How about we let Y/N decide who she wants to room with, yeah?”

With that, all the attention was now directed at you. “Oh. I don’t mind, I can share with whoever,” you said, not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings by picking one person over the other two.

Remus sighed and turned to the other two boys. He muttered something to them and they all agreed by nodding, then broke into a game of stick and stones. This made you giggle, so incredibly childish of them, but so incredibly amusing to you. You thought for a moment that maybe they were playing to see who would be stuck with you, that maybe none of them actually wanted to share a bed with you. But this theory of yours was proven wrong when Remus was eliminated and swore at the other two. You giggled again.

James and Sirius continued until Sirius groaned and threw his head back, James laughing in victory. He swung an arm around you and said, “Looks like you’re stuck with me tonight, love.” James grabbed one room key from Remus, and started to lead you two to your room.

Before you made it very far, Sirius whispered to you “I’m not joking he kicks.”

You smiled and bid Remus and Sirius goodnight before making your way to your room.

James, always the gentleman, carried your bag for you and opened the door for you when you reached the correct room. You shuffled in and took a look around. The room was quite big and luxurious.

The bed was king sized, so you were a little more relieved. You walked in and plopped yourself right in the middle of it. James set your bag down and looked around the room as well.

“Oh uh, I can sleep on the floor or something by the way. I’m sure there’s extra pillows and blankets in the closet.” He said.

You sat up and looked at him. “No! Don’t be ridiculous James, I’m not making you sleep on the floor.” you laughed. “Besides, there’s plenty of room for both of us in this bed.” you pat the spot next to you.

James was blushing but trying to play it cool. “Ok, as long as you’re ok…”

You rolled your eyes at him but smiled. He sat on the bed next to you.

“So is it true?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Is what true?” he asked back.

You laughed and replied “That you kick.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No… I mean maybe. How should I know I’m asleep.” he laughed.

“Have you and Sirius shared a bed a lot? I mean… for him to bring it up…” you said, trying to not make it seem like you were asking something too personal. You have seen them laying together often on the couch… you knew they were close and often brushed it off as something they did as friends, that they were just cuddling and affectionate. But know… know you weren’t too sure, with Sirius’s comment and all. Maybe they were more than friends…

James chuckled again and thought for a moment. Then he replied, “Yeah we have… when we were younger, in school, he would climb into my bed a lot when… well, Sirius doesn’t have a particularly great family. So when he would get sad or stressed or… I don’t know… if he’d have any feelings relating to it, he’d often climb in my bed. We’d talk about it, or sometimes just lay there, then eventually we would fall asleep.” he turned to you to continue. “Then when he was about 16, he ran away from home and came to live with me. For a while we only had one bed,” he laughed, “but we didn’t really mind. It wasn’t until Remus came to live with us that we all got our separate rooms.”

“Wait,” you said a bit confused, “Remus came to live with you too?”

James nodded. “Yeah, a little while after Sirius did. Remus also has… a complicated family history. So yeah… we’ve all shared beds but… I guess we just like to be close to each other.”

You felt so bad, so guilty for bringing it up. You thought that maybe… but it was actually much worse, sadder. “Oh…” you said, because that was really the only thing you could say. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring-”

“Oh no! It’s fine.” James stopped you. “We're all the better for it.” He smiled.

You nodded but still felt a little bad. You hopped up and told him you were going to shower quickly. He said alright and that he would find something to watch for the two of you. Showereng, you still felt awful for assuming that maybe they had slept together, when in reality, they were just boys who were affectionate, and… ugh.

You dried off and changed into some comfy clothes, stepping out into the cold bedroom.

James was already in some sleeping pants and a hoodie, leaning back on the headboard, staring at the tv screen. “I found two movies we could watch either Jurassic World or Mulan, but if I had to pick… I’d wanna watch Jurassic World.” he said, looking at you with pleading eyes.

“You really liked the dinosaur exhibit today didn’t you?” you laughed.

“I really liked the dinosaur exhibit.” he echoed and smiled at you, turning the movie on.

You climbed into bed right alongside him, also leaning against the headboard. You two watched the movie and talked for a while longer before either of you got tired. It was midnight when both of you decided to sleep, knowing that it would be an early morning.

“Y/N?” James’s voice sounded from beside you.

“Hmm” you answered, trying to get comfortable.

“Is it ok if I take my shirt off?” he asked.

You froze completely. James was incredibly fit and you would be lying if you said you didn’t love the thought of sleeping next to him shirtless. But it was just like him to ask before doing it, to make sure he wasn’t making you uncomfortable at all.

“U-uh yeah go for it.” you stammered. Thank god he had already turned off the lights or else he would see the red hue staining your face.

He pulled off his hoodie and threw it across the room. You turned onto your side, away from him as you heard him say “Goodnight Y/N”.

“Goodnight,” you replied.

You couldn’t sleep immediately, the one reason being that you were under the AC, which, after being in the shower, made you so much colder. You tried to pull the comforter up more, but James turned to you.

“You alright, love?” he asked.

“Yeah, just cold.” you said, trying to keep your teeth from chattering. James got up and found his hoodie from where he threw it and handed it to you.

“Oh no,” you began to protest, but it was no use, he was already bunching it up over your head. You gave in and let him slip the warm fabric over your body.

“Better?” he asked.

“A little,” you said as he climbed back into bed, truthfully, it did help, but you were still slightly cold.

You felt the bed shift, then felt his arms around you. If you weren't blushing before, you definitely were now. You made to protest, to say that it was ok and that he didn’t have to but before you could get a word out James shushed you.

“Shh, I run very warm.” he said sleepily, and it was true. He was like a human furnace, like a heated blanket wrapped around you.

You smiled and curled up to get more comfortable. You must have accidentally brushed James’s leg while doing so because he let out a yelp then a laugh.

“Why are your feet so cold!” he whisper shouted, making you giggle and apologize.

“I run very cold.” you joked.

You both layed there, getting warm and dozing off. You wished you could feel it every night, it was like the sun was shining perfectly on you, you could get used to this. But he was your roommate and you didn’t want to make anything weird between you all, even if that meant never feeling warm enough in bed again.

i hope this is good... idk. also james got what he wanted from last part lmao

Taglist💌: @too-efn-old-to-be-here @cometsghost @eeviee4 @giuli-in-earth @spicybearnaise @the-lavender-girl @adharalikethestar @champomiel @itsleroyposts @enamoredwithbella @babymash @ilovejamespottersomuch @liszblog @sammyreid @kiaslily @idkman5335 @willowlovestheweasleys @lady-balem

439 notes · View notes